.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LOS 


UNCLE   CHARLIE'S 
5TORY   BOOK. 

FUN,  FACT,  AND  FANC7. 


(Fiftieth  Birthday  Souvenir.) 


LOVINGLY  DEDICATED  TO  OLD  FRIENDS  AND  NEW. 


B7 

Charles  Noel  Douglas. 


Brooklyn,  N.  7. : 

Charles  Noel  Douglas, 

1299  Park  Place. 

PRICE,    FIFTY    CENTS,    POSTPAID. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  ROMANCE  OF  HELEN  BLACKFORD    ....  5 

How  UNCLE  CHARLIE  BECAME  A  HERO  OF  THE  SPANISH 

WAR 21 

THE  STORY  OF  A  ROSE 43 

THE  GHOSTS  OF  THE  MISSISSIPPI     .....  49 

WOMAN  AGAINST  WOMAN 59 

LILY,  OR  HELP  WANTED!        , 75 

'A  TERRIFYING  EXPERIENCE in 

How   MARIA  MET  UNCLE   CHARLIE       .        .        .        .116 

How  BILLY  THE  GOAT  MET  UNCLE  CHARLIE        .        .  125 

THE  GLORIOUS  FOURTH  AND  How  WE  GOT  IT  .        .  134 

"STRANDED"       .»       ,       »       .       *       .       .       .       .  145 


Copyright,  ipi3,  by  Eleanor  I.  Rutherford. 


UNCLE  CHARLIE'S  STORYBOOK 


TO  OLD  FRIENDS  AND  NEW  ONES 

Seven  years  have  passed  since  Uncle  Charlie's  Poems  was 
launched  on  the  literary  sea.  Three  years  later  Uncle  Char- 
lie's Song  Book  ventured  forth  to  court  public  favor.  Both 
books  have  gone  into  thousands  of  homes,  and  over  two  hun- 
dred enthusiastic  newspaper  notices  and  thousands  of  still 
more  enthusiastic  letters  eloquently  bear  witness  to  the  pleas- 
ure and  satisfaction  of  those  who  possess  these  volumes  of 
mirth  and  melody. 

The  matter  of  arranging  for  a  suitable  souvenir  to  mark 
the  occasion  of  the  writer's  fiftieth  birthday  has  resulted  in 
the  publication  of  this  little  volume,  into  which  have  been 
collected  some  stories  that  in  fugitive  form  have  already  ap- 
peared in  various  publications,  and  to  these  have  been  added, 
for  the  benefit  of  those  thousands  of  dear,  good  friends  who 
have  honored  the  writer  by  taking  an  interest  in  his  work,  a 
few  other  stories  of  a  more  personal  nature. 

Uncle  Charlie's  Songs  and  Poems  have  won  themselves  an 
enviable  place  in  public  favor.  They  have  made,  and  are 
still  making  good.  The  writer,  however,  owing  to  physical 
conditions  which  make  sustained  effort  necessary  in  story 
writing  too  great  a  tax  on  his  waning  strength,  claims  little 
for  the  sheaf  of  stories  presented  herewith,  except  that  he 
believes  they  will  help  to  pass  a  few  spare  moments  accepta- 
bly. If  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  accomplishes  this  much, 
and  if  it  should  even  in  the  smallest  way  aid  in  forging  new 
links  in  the  chain  of  affection  and  regard  which  for  so  many 
years  has  bound  him  to  a  host  of  friends,  he  will  be  more 
than  repaid,  more  than  happy. 

To  those  who  have  secured  this  book  chiefly  because  it 
commemorates  a  momentous  occasion  in  the  author's  life,  he 
extends  his  gratitude  and  appreciation.  It  is  a  constant  sor- 
row and  regret  to  him  that  he  cannot  meet  face  to  face  all 


2129027 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  "Book 


those  loyal  and  devoted  friends  who  have  done  so  much,  by 
wafting  their  waves  of  love  and  sympathy  to  his  bedside,  to 
make  the  thorny  path  of  his  journeyings  less  hard  to  travel, 
and  his  daily  burdens  more  easy  to  bear.  To  old  and  new 
friends  from  the.  depths  of  a  grateful  heart  he  sends  one  and 
all  his  love  and  greetings. 

THE  AUTHOR. 

Full  particulars  of  the  author's  wonderfully  successful 
works,  Uncle  Charlie's  Poems  and  Song  Book,  will  be  found 
at  the  end  of  this  volume. 


THE    ROMANCE    OF    HELEN    BLACKFORD;    OR, 
TWICE  A  BRIDE,  ONCE  A  WIFE 

CHAPTER  I 

"You  must  marry  Will  Hastings,  Helen,  or  see  your  father 
go  to  prison !"  These  startling  words  fell  on  the  ear  of  a 
fair,  slender  girl,  who,  with  a  far-away  look  in  her  lovely 
blue  eyes,  was  gazing  out  onto  the  placid  blue  waters  of  Lake 
Erie. 

"Father,"  replied  the  young  girl  reproachfully,  "you  do  not 
know  what  you  ask.  I  have  always  been  an  obedient  child. 
I  have  always  done  your  bidding  cheerfully  and  executed  your 
every  wish,  but  what  you  now  ask  of  me  is  utterly  impossi- 
ble !" 

"Utterly  impossible !  Is  there  any  hardship  in  marrying 
a  nice  young  fellow  with  plenty  of  money?"  snapped  the  old 
man  testily. 

"Yes,  father,  a  great  deal  of  hardship,  when  you  do  not 
love  the  man." 

"Ah !  that's  it,"  quickly  retorted  the  old  man,  almost  an- 
grily ;  "love !  that's  the  thing  that's  worrying  you,  as  if  love 
ever  made  anyone  happy,  or  ever  fed  a  woman,  or  kept  a 
roof  over  a  man's  head.  Love !  love's  all  rubbish  and  non- 
sense ;  it's  a  word  that  has  no  meaning  in  these  prosaic  days." 

"Didn't  you  love  my  mother,  father  ?" 

"Well,  maybe  I  did,  but  I  was  young  and  foolish  then,  and 
didn't  know  any  better ;  I've  become  sensible  since,  and  I  tell 
you  love  is  all  rubbish ;  it's  only  money  that  makes  married 
life  happy,  and  Will  has  plenty  of  money,  and  he'll  let  you 
|  spend  all  you've  a  mind  to." 

"I've  no  great  desire  to  spend  Will  Hastings'  money,  fa- 
ther, and  I  would  rather  die  than  marry  a  man  I  did  not 
love." 

"You  refuse  then?" 

"Absolutely!" 


"6  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Boo% 

The  last  word  fell  on  the  old  man  with  crushing  force. 
He  had  been  in  the  habit  of  commanding  all  his  life,  and 
Helen  had  always  cheerfully  obeyed,  for  obedience  came 
naturally  to  her;  not  from  any  lack  of  spirit,  but  from  an 
innate  sense  of  filial  duty,  and  a  gentleness  and  sweetness  of 
disposition  which  made  it  easy  for  her  to  do  the  will  of  her 
parent,  where  others  would  have  argued  and  rebelled.  Then, 
too,  Helen  never  forgot  the  promise  she  had  given  her 
mother  when  that  gentle  soul  lay  on  her  death  bed. 

"Humor  your  father,  dear,  and  do  his  will,  even  as  I  have 
done;  it  will  come  hard  at  times,  but  it  is  the  easier  and 
better  way.  You  will  have  to  take  my  place,  Helen,  and  he 
will  need  you  so  much  when  I  am  gone ;  be  patient  with  him, 
dear,  for  my  sake." 

Helen  dropped  a  kiss  on  the  white  brow  of  the  mother  she 
loved,  and  whispered,  "Mother,  I  promise!"  That  promise 
was  sacred,  and  keep  it  she  would,  no  matter  what  the  cost. 

None  too  bright  had  been  the  life  of  this  fair  young  girl, 
who  now,  in  the  twentieth  summer  of  her  existence,  was  a 
type  of  beautiful  womanhood  rarely  seen.  Gentleness  and 
intense  womanliness  were  the  keynotes  of  Helen's  character ; 
and  one  at  once  felt,  when  in  her  presence,  that  here  at  least 
was  woman  as  God  intended  woman  to  be.  The  responsi- 
bilities of  Helen's  life  had  given  her  a  seriousness  and  depth 
of  character  far  beyond  her  years.  Her  mother  had  been 
exceedingly  delicate,  with  the  result  that  many  of  the  house- 
hold duties  and  cares  had  fallen  on  Helen's  shoulders,  and 
hours  which  in  an  ordinary  girl's  life  would  have  been  de- 
voted to  pleasure  and  enjoyment  were  to  her  hours  of  con- 
finement and  toil. 

In  spite  of  the  hardships  of  her  life,  Helen's  education  had 
not  been  neglected,  and,  intellectually,  she  was  far  superior 
to  the  average  girl  of  her  age  and  social  position.  Her  fa- 
ther, Captain  Blackford,  had  been  well  known  on  the  lakes, 
commanding  a  passenger  boat,  once  the  pride  of  the  inland 
seas;  but,  unfortunately  for  him,  a  collision  occurred  in 
which  he  was  found  to  be  at  fault,  with  the  result  that  his 
certificate  was  forfeited  and  his  calling  gone. 

Dark  days  of  adversity  settled  on  the  Blackford  home,  un- 
til Captain  Hastings  died,  and  left  the  management  of  his 
estate,  which  was  quite  a  large  one,  in  the  care  of  his  life- 
time friend,  Helen's  father.  Captain  Hastings  had  but  one 
son,  and,  as  he  was  not  yet  of  age,  it  was  only  natural  his 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 


old  friend  should  have  been  appointed  his  guardian,  and  it 
was  this  guardianship  which  proved  Robert  Blackford's  un- 
doing. 

As  many  another  has  done,  Robert  Blackford  speculated 
with  the  trust  funds  in  his  possession,  and  lost  half  the 
money  left  in  his  charge.  The  day  for  the  accounting  was 
near  at  hand,  and  the  old  man  knew  of  but  one  card  he  could 
play  in  a  desperate  hand,  and  that  was  to  marry  his  charge, 
"Wild  Will  Hastings,"  as  he  was  called,  to  his  daughter, 
Helen. 

Will  had  long  been  an  ardent  admirer  of  Helen's,  but 
already  the  lad — for  he  was  little  more — had  begun  to  show 
signs  of  a  dissolute  nature,  and  his  wild  escapades  were  the 
talk  of  the  little  lake  town  in  which  they  lived.  Had  the 
youth  possessed  strength  of  character  and  been  free  from 
evil  habits,  he  might  have  found  favor  in  Helen's  eyes,  for 
Nature  had  not  been  unkind  to  him.  But  once  he  had  come 
to  take  Helen  for  a  sleigh  ride,  when  his  eyes  were  flashing 
with  an  unnatural  light  and  his  speech  was  thick  and  un- 
certain. Helen  immediately  detected  the  evil  power  that 
possessed  him,  and  turned  from  him  with  horror  and  loath- 
ing. From  that  moment  he  was  as  one  dead  to  her,  tho'  he 
came  the  next  day  and  pleaded  for  forgiveness. 

Two  weeks  later  Will  again  called  to  see  Helen,  and  this 
time,  flushed  with  the  evil  spirit  of  drink,  he  attempted  to 
kiss  her,  and  received  a  stinging  box  on  the  ears  for  his  vul- 
gar audacity,  and  was  promptly  shown  the  door,  with  the 
request  that  he  never  enter  it  again. 

Intoxicated  as  Will  was,  the  chastisement  he  had  received 
cut  him  deeply,  and  awoke  all  the  evil  in  his  shiftless  nature. 

"I'll  make  her  pay  for  that.  She  don't  know  that  I  can  put 
her  father  in  the  'pen,'  but  I  can,  and  I  will,  by  God,  I  will 
if  she  don't  come  to  time."  Thus  muttered  the  reckless 
youth,  as  he  staggered  off  to  see  Helen's  father  at  the  little 
office  of  the  Hastings'  estate. 

The  result  of  this  interview  was  that  Helen's  father  con- 
signed her  to  the  care  of  his  dissolute  ward  for  life,  and 
consigned  her  with  as  little  mental  perturbation  as  though  she) 
had  been  a  piece  of  land  or  a  city  lot.  i, 

"Hadn't  you  better  speak  to  her  about  it  ?"  said  young  Has- 
tings, who  did  not  altogether  share  the  old  man's  sanguine 
views  upon  Helen's  tractability. 

"Ask  Helen !  what's  she  got  to  do  about  it  ?"  said  the  old 


8  'Uncle  Charlie's  Story  'Book 

man.  The  ridiculousness  of  her  having  any  ideas,  or  being 
permitted  to  have  any  ideas,  upon  the  subject  seemed  to  him 
the  height  of  absurdity,  and  he  dismissed  the  thought  from 
his  mind  with  a  toss  of  his  head,  as  being  a  matter  utterly 
without  the  pale  of  discussion. 

"She  might  object !"  repeated  Will,  lighting  another  ciga- 
rette, a  form  of  dissipation  which  had  become  chronic  with 
him. 

"Object!"  snapped  the  old  man.  "Object!  I  don't  allow 
no  one  to  object  in  my  house.  I've  only  one  daughter,  but  it 
would  be  all  the  same  if  I  had  a  million.  It  ain't  that  I  love 
to  boss,  for  there  ain't  no  credit  in  bossing  a  woman,  but  I 
mean  to  have  my  way  in  my  own  house,  or  I'll  know  the 
reason  why !  I'll  see  you  marry  Helen,  Will,  within  a  month 
of  your  coming  of  age  !" 

"Well,  Cap,"  said  Will,  "if  you  keep  your  word,  there'll  be 
no  trouble  about  that  missing  fifty  thousand ;  and  if  you  don't, 
I  won't  guarantee  what  won't  happen,  for  though  I'm  no 
lover  of  money  except  for  the  fun  I  can  get  out  of  it,  still 
I'm  not  going  to  sit  down  and  let  a  man  do  me  out  of  fifty 
thousand  dollars  without  putting  him  right  where  he  be- 
longs—behind the  bars." 

"Ydu'd  send  me  to  prison  ?"  nervously  queried  the  old  man. 

"It's  that  or  Helen!"  said  Will,  looking  the  Captain 
squarely  in  the  eye. 

"I'll  see  you  get  Helen !"  was  the  old  man's  reply,  his  voice 
betraying,  possibly  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  nervousness 
and  fear.  He  had  thought  this  weak  boy  could  be  twisted 
around  his  fingers,  but  the  youth's  sudden  show  of  deter- 
mination and  nerve  had  taken  him  off  his  guard,  and  his 
usual  coolness  deserted  him. 

Here  the  two  had  parted.  The  youth  to  adjourn  to  the 
nearest  saloon,  the  old  man  to  go  to  his  home  and  break 
to  his  daughter  the  news  that  she  was  to  be  sacrificed  to 
save  him  from  a  prison  cell. 

We  have  seen  how  Helen  had  received  her  father's  in- 
tentions of  bartering  her  happiness  for  his  freedom  from 
punishment — she  absolutely  declined  to  be  sacrificed.  The 
old  man  stormed,  threatened  and  raved,  but  the  tractable, 
obedient  girl  was  now  a  very  Gibraltar  in  her  determination 
not  to  wed  Will  Hastings. 

Her  resolution  at  last  had  its  effect  on  the  old  man.  His 
hectoring,  domineering  manner  gradually  vanished,  and  in- 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  'Book  9 

stead  he  became  a  pleading  suppliant.  He  could  neither  sleep 
nor  eat.  The  bronzed,  rugged  face  became  pale  and  wan, 
and  Helen's  heart,  always  a  heart  full  of  tenderness  and  pity, 
was  deeply  touched.  Helen  could  not  bear  to  see  anyone 
suffer.  Suffering  in  those  she  loved  rankled  in  her  soul 
like  an  iron  brand;  and  she  loved  this  old  father  of  hers, 
unlovable  though  he  was,  with  all  her  heart.  Then,  too,  she 
remembered  the  promise  she  had  given  her  mother,  and  so 
when  the  old  man,  his  eyes  filled  with  tears,  begged  her  on 
his  bended  knees  to  save  him  from  death  in  a  prison  cell, 
it  was  only  natural  that,  constituted  as  she  was,  with  a  heart 
of  melting  pity,  she  should  promise  to  save  him  from  the 
consequences  of  his  wrong-doing.  When  the  old  man  got  up 
from  a  posture  he  had  never  before  assumed  either  to  God 
or  man — that  of  a  suppliant  for  mercy — she  smoothed  his 
grizzled  locks,  and  her  tears  fell  upon  his  care-lined  fore- 
head. 

Within  half  an  hour,  all  Port  Raymond  knew  that  Helen 
Blackford,  old  Captain  Blackford's  pretty  daughter,  was  to 
marry  young  Will  Hastings,  now  the  richest  man  (for  he 
had  come  of  age)  in  the  township. 


CHAPTER  II 

It  was  the  close  of  a  warm,  perfect  June  day.  The  sun 
was  tinting  the  blue  waters  of  Lake  Erie  with  a  broad  band 
of  shimmering  gold,  and  Nature  looked  her  best. 

There  was  an  unwonted  stir  in  the  Blackford  residence, 
for  this  was  to  be  Helen's  wedding  day.  The  ceremony  was 
to  be  performed  in  the  parlor  of  the  Blackford  home  at  eight 
p.  m.  and  it  was  now  within  an  hour  of  that  time. 

Helen  was  simply  but  beautifully  dressed;  her  fair  young 
face  looking  almost  angelic  under  her  bridal  veil.  Her 
cheeks  were  flushed  with  excitement,  but  not  the  excitement 
that  usually  flushes  the  cheeks  of  a  bride. 

Two  months  had  passed  since  Helen  had  given  her  promise 
to  become  the  wife  of  Will  Hastings.  In  giving  her  promise, 
she  had  insisted  on  one  condition,  and  that  was,  there  was 
to  be  no  courtship,  and  that  she  was  to  see  her  future  hus- 
band in  the  presence  of  her  father.  To  this  Will  Hastings 
agreed  simply  because  he  had  no  choice  in  the  matter. 
"Never  mind,  I'll  have  her  all  to  myself  soon,  and  then 


lo  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

she'll  make  no  conditions  !"  was  his  ominous  remark,  when 
told  by  her  father  of  the  stipulation  she  had  made. 

Helen  had  thus  been  relieved  of  the  unwelcome  presence 
of  her  affianced  but  oh,  what  a  heavy  load  hung  o'er  her 
fair  young  head,  and  pressed  down  upon  her  pure,  white 
soul.  What  she  would  do  she  did  not  know,  but  still  she 
did  not  despair.  She  poured  out  her  soul  to  that  God  above 
who  had  never  deserted  her,  and  to  whom  she  ever  turned, 
in  her  hour  of  need.  Helen  did  not  pray  in  vain.  One  day! 
an  old  school  chum  of  hers  called;  a  bright  resourceful  girl, 
with  any  number  of  admirers.  No  sooner  had  Helen  con- 
fided to  her  her  troubles  than  Alice  Wentworth,  her  friend, 
jumped  from  her  chair  and  in  a  burst  of  girlish  enthusiasm 
took  Helen  to  her  heart.  "Don't  worry,  dear,  I've  a  plan, 
and  Jack  Foster — my  beau — and  I  will  see  you  through  !" 

Then  followed  an  animated  conversation,  conducted  in  an 
undertone,  though  not  a  soul  was  within  a  hundred  yards 
of  the  house. 

When  Alice  Wentworth  left  the  Blackford  residence  that 
night,  Helen's  face  was  wreathed  in  smiles  and  an  awful 
load  had  been  lifted  from  her  heart  and  mind. 

It  was  time  for  Helen  to  descend  to  the  parlor,  but  still 
she  lingered.  As  she  gazed  into  the  mirror,  not  one  thought 
did  she  give  to  her  appearance,  for  her  mind  was  busier  with 
matters  of  weightier  import.  This  bridal  dress,  if  Alice 
failed  her,  might  yet  be  her  shroud.  The  thought  was  an 
awful  one,  and  her  heart  sank  within  her.  Suddenly  a  note 
was  placed  in  her  hands;  hurriedly  she  read  it  and  her  face 
brightened;  then  with  a  sigh  of  relief  she  walked  down  to 
the  parlor. 

The  house  was  a  big,  old-fashioned  building,  and  the  par- 
lor was  a  large,  commodious  room.  All  of  Port  Raymond's 
best  people  had  come  to  see  pretty  Helen  Blackford  wed 
Will  Hastings.  Everyone  knew  there  was  something  queer 
about  this  wedding,  but  no  one  knew  what.  Will  and  Helen 
were  never  seen  in  each  other's  society,  but  gossip  could  say 
little  on  that  point,  as  Will  was  often  at  the  Blackford  home, 
though  no  one  knew  under  what  conditions  he  was  received 
there. 

Will  Hastings  had  given  Captain  Blackford  a  hundred- 
dollar  bill  to  spend  on  floral  decorations,  and  the  amount  of 
champagne  that  bibulous  youth  sent  for  the  wedding  feast 
would  have  floated  a  good-sized  ship. 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  'Book  Tl 

"Cap,"  said  Will  with  a  husky  voice,  while  raising  a  glass 
of  Pommery  to  his  lips  the  day  before  the  wedding,  "Cap, 
old  boy,  we're  going  to  do  this  wedding  business  up  in  good 
shape"  (here  he  lurched  forward  and  emptied  half  the  con- 
tents of  his  glass  over  the  Captain's  immaculately  white 
vest).  "Cap,  ol'  chap"  (slapping  the  old  man  on  the  back  and 
emptying  the  balance  of  his  glass  over  his  shoes),  "Cap,  old 
pard,  a  feller  don't  get  married  every  day  of  his  life,  except- 
ing he's  a  Mormon  or  a  Turk,  so,  Cap,  I'm  going  to  get  mar- 
ried good ;  I'm  going  to  get  married  for  all  there  is  in  it. 
(Hi,  waiter,  'nother  bottle!)  I'm  (hie!)  in  this  marriage 
business  to  stay.  My  marriage  certif-tif-tificate  ain't  got  no 
divorce  coupon  attached.  This  is  a  through,  straight  ticket 
(well,  here's  how!)  and  there's  no  round  trip  business  in 
mine.  My  marriage  certif-tif-tificate  is  the  straight  goods, 
Cap,  and  I'm  going  to  put  a  lead  pipe  cinch  and  a  ton  of  Yale 
locks  and  a  burglar-proof  safe  combination  on  it,  so  no 
damn  judge  or  jury  can  open  it  up  or  bust  it  apart.  That's 
me,  Cap.  And  another  thing,  Cap,  I  want  you,  and  I  want 
all  your  friends,  and  all  my  friends,  and  all  the  whole  gosh- 
darned  world  to  know  that  this  ain't  no  Prohibition  wedding. 
If  Carrie  Nation's  spook  butts  into  this  deal,  it'll  get  a 
straight  ticket  for  a  hospital.  Water-wagon  cranks,  and  tem- 
perance freaks  can  steer  clear  of  me  when  I'm  in  the  mar- 
riage business.  I'm  going  to  get  married  on  the  champagne 
and  whisky  route,  with  corks  popping  all  along  the  line.  I'd 
rather  go  to  a  wedding  in  a  hearse  than  on  a  water  wagon. 
Every  man,  woman  and  child  who  comes  to  my  wedding 
must  take  their  medicine  straight  or  get  out.  I've  given  or- 
ders to  turn  the  water  supply  off  from  the  whole  town.  I've 
got  the  hydrants  locked,  and  anyone  who  wants  to  boil  a 
shirt  or  take  a  drink  in  this  burg  to-morrow  will  do  it  in 
champagne,  or  I'll  know  the  reason  why." 

Having  delivered  himself  of  this  eloquent  temperance  lec- 
ture, Will  proceeded  to  open  another  bottle,  which  was 
equally  distributed  between  his  throat,  clothes  and  shoes;  the 
same  liquid  division  occurring  in  the  Captain's  case. 

Will,  thanks  to  the  efforts  of  his  friends,  arrived  at  the 
Blackford  residence  sober.  A  large  crowd  had  gathered  out- 
side the  house,  and  cheered  him  as  he  entered.  In  the  young 
man's  hand  was  a  leather  case,  which  the  facetious  members 
of  the  crowd  wagered  to  contain  liquid  refreshment.  In  this 
surmise  they  were  wrong,  for  the  bag  contained  quantities 


12  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

of  small  silver  coins,  "chicken  feed"  was  the  name  Master 
William  applied  to  them;  and  it  was  not  long  before  the 
bearer  of  the  suit  case  appeared  on  the  veranda  of  the  house, 
bag  in  hand,  and  commenced  throwing  handfuls  of  these 
small  coins  in  the  direction  of  the  crowd.  This  sport  af- 
forded him  such  intense  enjoyment  that  he  utterly  forgot, 
for  the  time,  the  important  matters  which  needed  his  atten- 
tion inside.  Finally  the  coin  supply  was  exhausted,  and  the 
vinous  son  of  Bacchus  sent  into  the  house  for  six  cases  of 
champagne,  it  being  his  intention  to  hurl  the  silver-topped 
bottles  over  the  heads  of  the  crowd,  even  as  he  had  done  in 
the  case  of  the  coin.  In  this  intention  he  was  happily  frus- 
trated, and  the  rustle  of  the  bride's  silken  gown  in  the  par- 
lor caused  him  to  devote  all  his  attention  to  his  future  wife, 
for  whom  he  really  cared,  as  far  as  an  inebriate  can  care  for 
anything  apart  from  the  deadly  liquor  which  claims  all  his 
love  and  saps  his  life  and  kills  him  in  return. 

Bride  and  groom  now  stood  before  the  minister.  What  a 
contrast  between  the  pure,  sweet  girl,  and  this  rum-saturated 
degenerate.  She  will  reform  him,  people  whispered;  but  the 
man  who  will  not  reform  before  marriage  will  never  do  it 
after,  when  the  object  of  his  love  is  tied  to  him  irrevocably. 

Soon  the  solemn  words  were  said,  which  made  Helen  the 
wife  of  William  Francis  Hastings.  The  Reverend  Doctor 
Bradley  performed  the  ceremony,  and  it  was  no  sooner  over 
than  Will  put  a  hundred-dollar  bill  in  his  hand  and  said: 
"Thanks,  Doc;  you've  fixed  us  up  in  good  shape — we're 
fixed  to  stay  fixed.  I'm  ready  to  pay  a  good  price,  as  I  only 
want  it  done  once.  I'm  not  going  to  keep  on  getting  married 
every  time  the  moon  changes,  otherwise  I'd  want  you  to  let 
me  in  on  the  ground  floor  at  reduced  rates.  Now,  boys," 
said  Will,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand,  "let's  open  up  and  cele- 
brate— I  want  you  all  to  toast  the  bride." 

Helen  had  turned  pale. 

"Pardon  me,  Mr.  Hastings,"  she  said,  "but  our  train  for 
Niagara  Falls  leaves  in  an  hour,  so  excuse  me,  pray,  as  I 
must  retire  to  put  on  my  traveling  dress !" 

"All  right,  my  dear;  trot  on!  But  here,  say,  give  us  a 
kiss  before  you  go,"  said  the  eager  and  impudent  groom,  his 
eyes  greedily  drinking  in  the  beauty  and  charm  of  his  lovely 
bride ;  now  his,  all  his,  his  to  do  as  he  pleased  with  forever. 

"Wait  until  I  return ;  I  object  to  kissing  in  public."  With 
that  she  greeted  a  few  friends  and  retired  to  her  room. 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  13 

Champagne  corks  began  to  pop,  and  soon  the  fun  waxed 
fast  and  furious.  Will  drank  freely,  and  in  the  excitement 
forgot  the  train  which  was  to  carry  his  bride  and  himself 
to  Niagara,  where  the  first  part  of  the  honeymoon  was  to  be 
spent. 

Captain  Blackford  murmured  to  himself:  "Thank  God, 
she's  married !  I've  filled  my  part  of  the  contract,  and  no 
one  can  harm  me  now !" 

It  wanted  but  ten  minutes  to  train  time.  The  coach  was 
at  the  door.  Word  was  passed  in  to  hurry  up.  Will  put  on 
his  light  covert  coat,  and  shook  hands  all  round,  and  called 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  "Come  on,  Helen,  or  we'll  lose  the 
train !"  No  reply  came  to  his  call.  Twice,  thrice  it  was  re- 
peated, with  no  results.  There  was  no  time  to  stand  on  cere- 
mony, so  Will  dashed  upstairs  to  Helen's  room,  the  door  of 
which  was  partly  open.  He  knocked,  the  door  yielded,  and 
lo!  the  room  was  empty.  Into  the  dainty  room  of  his  fair 
bride  he  strode,  his  eyes  flashing  with  anger  and  terror.  On 
his  drink-dulled  mind  flashed  the  truth,  and  he  shook  as  one 
overcome  with  a  dreadful  fear.  Captain  Blackford  was  by 
his  side.  On  Helen's  bureau  lay  a  note,  unsealed.  Will  tore 
it  apart  with  feverish  haste  and  read:  "Mr.  Hastings:  I 
promised  my  father  and  you  that  I  would  marry  you.  I  have 
kept  my  promise.  No  power  on  earth  can  make  me  live  with 
you  as  your  wife.  I  have  gone — where,  you  will  never  know. 
Please  do  not  follow  me ;  it  is  useless. — Helen  Blackford." 

Will  Hastings  dropped  in  a  chair,  white  as  a  sheet,  the  let- 
ter clenched  in  his  hand.  He  was  hit,  hit  hard.  Suddenly  he 
jumped  to  his  feet  and  ran  downstairs. 

"She's  gone,  boys,  gone,"  he  said,  with  a  despairing  cry, 
"but  I'll  find  her,  I'll  find  her,  by  God,  if  I  have  to  go  to  the 
end  of  the  world  to  do  it." 


CHAPTER  III 

9  It  was  night !  night  in  the  ward  of  a  great  New  York  hos- 
pital. Noiselessly  from  bed  to  bed  flitted  the  dainty  figure 
of  a  uniformed  nurse,  giving  medicines  to  and  taking  tem- 
peratures of  critical  cases.  The  silence  is  broken  only  by 
the  moans  and  anguished  cries  of  those  in  intense  pain.  In 
this  ward  are  gathered  the  sick  of  all  nationalities,  each  bear- 
ing his  cross  of  pain  and  sorrow  the  best  he  can.  In  this 


'i 4  'Uncle  Charlie's  Story  'Book 

bed  is  an  Italian,  in  the  next  a  Chinaman,  yonder  is  a  negro, 
next  to  him  a  Swede.  All  the  earth  has  contributed  its  bur- 
den of  human  sorrow  to  this  hall  of  suffering. 

Thirty  beds  are  in  this  ward,  and  all  but  one  are  filled. 
The  orderly  has  just  wheeled  a  sheeted  form  to  the  mortuary, 
or  dead  house,  and  the  young  nurse  is  alone.  The  ward  is  al- 
most in  darkness,  one  light  turned  low  being  the  only  il- 
lumination. The  nurse  carries  a  candle,  the  light  from  which 
shines  in  as  fair  a  face  as  God  ever  gave  to  mortal  body. 

One  pauses  to  think,  and  to  think  in  amazement,  of  this 
fair  young  girl,  here  alone  at  midnight  in  this  gruesome 
chamber  of  suffering  and  death.  Who  would  voluntarily  de- 
sert home — home  with  its  ties  and  affections,  its  comfort, 
cheer,  pleasure  and  happiness — to  come  to  such  a  place  as 
this? — this  the  stalking  place  and  abode  of  the  terror  of  ter- 
rors— Death ! 

The  nurse's  round  is  completed,  and  the  graceful  figure 
glides  noiselessly  to  a  table  at  the  end  of  the  ward,  where  the 
records  are  kept.  As  she  seats  herself,  and  commences  to 
write,  a  tall,  athletic  figure  enters  the  ward.  It  is  Doctor 
Ralph  Gordon,  the  young  house  physician,  now  in  the  last 
week  of  his  hospital  work,  and  soon  to  go  forth  into  the 
world  to  practice  for  himself. 

Ralph  Gordon's  whole  soul  was  wrapped  up  in  his  pro- 
fession, though  no  one  would  have  thought  that  handsome, 
striking  face  masked  the  personality  of  a  student  and  thinker, 
so  frankly  boyish  was  it  in  its  youthful  outlines  and  expres- 
sion. 

Ralph  Gordon  was  a  Harvard  graduate,  a  man  who  loved 
the  healing  art  for  its  own  sake,  and  not  for  the  money  it 
might  bring  him,  for  he  was  wealthy. 

Every  nurse  in  the  hospital — and  there  were  over  a  hun- 
dred of  them — adored  Ralph  Gordon;  but  Ralph,  though  not 
impervious  to  the  charms  of  the  other  sex,  knew  that  love 
and  medicine  could  not  be  successfully  practiced  together, 
and  he  had  steeled  his  heart  to  the  charms  of  the  noble 
women  who  carried  out  his  orders. 

"I  will  go  through  my  hospital  work  heart  whole,  if  I  pos- 
sibly can !"  Ralph  had  told  his  mother ;  but  in  this  determina- 
tion he  had  not  counted  upon  that  Fate  which  in  the  person 
of  Cupid  laughs  at  our  resolutions  and  impales  us  helpless 
mortals  upon  his  quivering  shafts. 

Ralph  Gordon  had  the  strength  of  Hercules,  and  the  will 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 


of  Napoleon,  until  he  gazed  into  the  eyes  of  Helen  Black- 
ford,  the  young  nurse  whose  work  of  mercy  we  have  just 
witnessed. 

"It  is  useless  to  fight  Fate,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh,  after 
Helen's  melting  eyes  had  looked  into  his.  "I  must  win  that 
girl  or  be  miserable  for  life !" 

The  discipline  of  a  hospital  is  as  severe  as  that  of  a  man- 
of-war.  The  rules  are  strict  and  rigidly  enforced.  The  lynx- 
eyed  superintendent  watches  the  nurses  as  a  cat  watches  a 
mouse;  she  has  been  through  the  mill  and  knows  all  the 
ropes.  For  a  nurse  to  be  caught  in  a  flirtation,  or  conversing 
on  other  than  routine  matters,  with  a  doctor,  means  in  the 
first  case  suspension,  in  the  second  dismissal. 

Helen  had  not  one  thought  of  love  in  her  heart  until  she 
met  Ralph  Gordon.  "I  want  to  do  all  the  good  I  can  in  the 
world,  and  I  can  accomplish  most  by  remaining  single !" 
Thus  she  would  soliloquize  and  resolve  to  herself,  but  a 
woman  is  made  to  love  and  be  loved,  and  one  glance  from 
Ralph  Gordon's  eyes  and  her  resolutions  vanished  as  mist 
before  the  morning  sun. 

Helen  was  not  susceptible,  her  nature  was  essentially  seri- 
ous, but  there  is  no  withstanding  Fate  when  Fate  knocks; 
and,  when  Dr.  Gordon  had  once  looked  into  her  eyes,  her 
whole  body  seemed  to  dance  in  the  joy  of  a  new-found  happi- 
ness. His  visits  were  to  her  a  source  of  infinite  happiness, 
and  surely  no  more  ideally  matched  couple  have  sprung  from 
the  canvas  of  a  painter,  or  the  fancy  of  a  poet,  than  this 
handsome  son  of  Apollo,  and  fair  daughter  of  Venus.  What 
a  contrast  were  they,  in  the  pride  of  youth,  strength  and 
beauty,  to  the  poor,  hollow-cheeked,  gaunt-eyed  sufferers 
who  lay  about  them  on  their  narrow  cots  of  misery. 

Not  for  an  instant  did  Helen  betray  the  great  passion  that 
Iwas  in  her  heart,  and  though,  as  she  went  her  rounds  with 
the  doctor,  she  could  feel  his  eyes  reading  her  very  soul,  she 
seldom  looked  up,  modestly  keeping  her  matchless  orbs  upon 
the  charts  which  she  held  in  her  hand.  At  times  it  was 
necessary  to  look  the  physician  squarely  in  the  face,  and  the 
intense  tenderness  she  saw  there  made  her  drop  her  lovely 
eyes,  while  the  blushes  mantled  to  her  fair  cheeks,  as  the 
rosy  tints  of  dawn  kiss  the  vaults  of  the  morning  skies. 

Once,  through  overwork,  she  had  been  confined  to  her 
room  with  nervous  exhaustion.  On  the  second  day  Dr. 
Gordon  had  been  called  to  prescribe  for  her.  With  what 


1 6  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

alacrity  he  went  may  be  well  imagined,  for  Helen's  absence 
from  duty  had  almost  distracted  him.  Helen  was  in  her 
room  lying  on  a  lounge  in  a  dainty  kimono,  strands  of  her 
lovely  hair  falling  loosely  o'er  her  shoulders.  The  lynx- 
eyed  superintendent  had  accompanied  him,  but  she  had  no 
sooner  entered  the  room  than  urgent  business  called  her 
(much  to  her  regret)  elsewhere. 

"Miss  Blackford,  I'm  awfully  grieved  to  see  you  are  sick !" 
said  Ralph,  drawing  a  chair  to  her  side,  and  taking  her  fair 
white  hand  in  his,  preparatory  to  noting  the  action  of  her 
pulse. 

"I  hope  to  be  back  at  my  duties,  doctor,  soon,"  replied 
Helen,  meeting  his  gaze  with  a  look  of  tenderness  it  was 
impossible  to  conceal.  "I  am  desperately  lonely  up  here." 

"And  I,  Miss  Blackford,  am  eating  out  my  heart  in  loneli- 
ness down  there.  Since  you  have  been  sick  I  go  about  my 
duties  with  a  heavy  heart;  I've  lost  all  interest  in  my  work, 
and  if  you  don't  come  back  at  once  I  shall  murder  my  pa- 
tients instead  of  curing  them,  for  I  simply  don't  know  what 
I'm  prescribing." 

"Doctor,  don't  jest,  please !"  said  Helen,  blushing. 

"I'm  not  jesting,  Miss  Blackford.    I  am  intensely  serious." 

"Then  you  really  miss  me !"  said  Helen,  unable  to  conceal 
her  happiness. 

"Miss  you,"  said  Ralph,  bending  o'er  her.  "I  miss  you  as 
the  flowers  miss  the  sun,  and,  as  the  roses  wither  and  die 
without  golden  rays  of  the  luminary  they  love,  so,  too,  will 
1  fade  from  the  world  and  perish  in  despair  unless  you  come 
back  to  gladden  my  anguished  heart  with  the  rapture  of  your 
presence." 

"Doctor  Gordon,"  said  Helen,  "you  were  meant  for  a  poet 
or  a  novelist,  I  fear  you  mistake  eloquence  for  sincerity !" 

"Miss  Blackford,  sincerity  is  the  keynote  of  my  character. 
I  never  took  the  slightest  interest  in  one  of  your  sex  until  I 
met  you,  and  now  I  find — I  find  I  cannot  live  out  of  your  sight. 
The  sunshine  that  gives  me  life  and  courage  is  the  light  that 
illumines  your  eyes.  My  profession  once  was  my  love,  my 
idol;  now  it  is  nothing.  Since  you  came  into  my  life  all  is 
changed.  You  have  taken  my  heart  from  me;  the  strong 
man  is  now  but  a  weakling,  a  suppliant  at  your  feet,  craving 
your  mercy.  Miss  Blackford,  Helen!  I  love  you!  Be  my 
[wife !" 

Ralph's  ardor  and  the  joy  of  his  pleading  had  lifted  Helen 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  17 

into  another  world;  but  the  awful  memories  of  that  night  in 
Port  Raymond  came  back  with  crushing  force.  Oh  that  she 
could  have  wiped  that  dreadful  moment  from  out  the  records 
of  her  life,  with  what  raptures  of  bliss  she  would  have  drawn 
that  handsome  face,  now  almost  touching  hers,  down,  down, 
where  her  lips  could  have  answered  him  with  a  touch  more 
eloquent  than  words. 

With  strength  of  steel  she  put  this  glimpse  of  heavenly 
happiness  from  her. 

"Doctor  Gordon,  I  appreciate  beyond  words  the  honor  you 
do  me  in  giving  me  your  love,  and  I,  I  will  not  deny  the  gift 

has  filled  me  with  intense  happiness,  but  I "  Here  she 

hesitated. 

"You  do  love  me?"  almost  gasped  the  eager  lover. 

"Yes;  with  all  my  soul!" 

"Darling !"  was  Ralph's  immediate  response. 

"Darling !"  and  he  folded  the  yielding  form  of  the  lovely 
maid  to  his  heart  and  rained  kisses  passionately  on  her  fair 
lips. 

"Darling!"  murmured  Ralph,  "your  love  is  all  I  crave. 
Will  you  be  my  wife?" 

"Doctor  Gordon,  Ralph !  love  you  I  ever  shall,  but  you 
must  forget  me,  for  I — I  cannot  be  your  wife !"  and  Helen, 
the  tears  filling  her  eyes,  held  him  at  arm's  length. 

"Some  one  has  a  prior  claim?"  queried  Ralph  fearfully, 
his  heart  sinking  with  despair. 

"Ask  no  questions,  I  beg,"  said  Helen,  "for  I  cannot  an- 
swer. This  much  I  will  say :  I  am  not  free  to  marry.  When 
I  am  I  will  tell  you  with  all  the  speed  of  which  love  is  ca- 
pable. No  lips  but  yours  have  ever  touched  mine;  no  lips 
but  yours  ever  shall." 

"Thank  God  for  that !"  breathed  Ralph  Gordon  fervently, 
as  his  lips  once  more  pressed  those  of  the  woman  he  loved. 

A  noise  in  the  hall  necessitated  the  doctor's  immediate 
withdrawal,  and  he  returned  to  his  duties  buoyed  up  with 
the  raptures  of  delight  and  bliss  on  the  one  hand  and  racked 
with  the  tortures  of  despair  on  the  other.  Helen's  emotions 
can  be  better  imagined  than  described.  She  stood  on  the 
threshold  of  Paradise  and  dared  not  enter. 


1 8  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 


A  week  had  elapsed  since  the  events  described  in  the  last 
chapter,  when,  as  we  narrated,  Dr.  Gordon  had  entered 
Helen's  ward,  ostensibly  to  see  a  patient,  but  in  reality  to  say 
"Good  night"  to  her  who  was  the  darling  of  his  dreams. 

Ralph  was  in  evening  dress,  and  had  been  to  the  opera  for 
a  little  relaxation  from  his  onerous  and  exhausting  duties. 
In  his  coat  was  a  small  boutonniere  of  violets.  These,  after 
a  cautious  survey  of  the  ward,  he  placed  on  the  table  in 
front  of  Helen.  She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  smile  that 
meant  worlds  of  happiness  to  him,  and  placed  the  flowers, 
after  touching  them  with  her  lips,  in  the  bosom  of  her  dress. 
She  had  scarcely  done  so  when  the  ambulance  bell  clanged 
insistently,  and  Dr.  Gordon  hurried  away,  soon  to  return  with 
the  ambulance  driver  and  orderly,  who  were  carrying  an 
unconscious  man  on  a  stretcher.  Rapidly  the  orderly  dis- 
robed the  sick  man,  and  disappeared.  The  doctor  and  Helen 
now  approached  his  bed. 

"This  is  a  very  bad  case,  alcoholic  pneumonia;  staggered 
into  a  snow  drift  when  intoxicated  and  found  unconscious 
by  the  police,  so  the  ambulance  surgeon  reports.  Why,  what 
is  the  matter,  Miss  Blackford;  are  you  ill?  Helen,  darling, 
what  is  it?" 

Helen  had  turned  deathly  pale,  and  had  sunk  on  her  knees 
by  the  sick  man's  bedside.  Suddenly,  with  a  mighty  effort, 
she  recovered  herself.  "It  is  nothing,"  she  said,  "just  a  tem- 
porary weakness." 

"You'd  better  go  and  get  some  sleep,  dear,"  said  Ralph 
tenderly,  "and  I'll  have  another  nurse  take  your  place." 

"No !  don't  trouble,  please.  I  am  all  right  now,"  replied 
Helen  bravely.  "I'm  a  little  tired,  that's  all." 

"I'm  going  to  try  and  pull  this  case  through,"  said  Dr. 
Gordon.  "Both  lungs  are  badly  affected,  and  this  man  won't 
respond  to  stimulants,  as  his  heart  has  been  already  whipped 
t~>  the  limit  by  alcohol.  This  is  my  last  pneumonia  case, 
Miss  Blackford.  Let's  try  and  pull  the  poor  wretch  through. 
Maybe  a  wife  is  breaking  her  heart  for  him  somewhere." 

Helen  could  bear  it  no  longer,  and  went  to  her  desk;  the 
doctor  left  his  orders  for  his  new  patient,  wished  Helen  good 
night,  and  retired. 

The  orderly  bathed  and  put  clean  clothes  on  the  sick  man, 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  19 

and  then  Helen  went  to  carry  out  the  doctor's  orders.  Brave 
girl  though  she  was,  she  trembled  at  the  task  before  her, 
but  it  must  be  done.  At  any  moment  this  man's  eyes  might 
open,  and  what  then? 

At  first  she  decided  she  would  leave  a  letter  for  Ralph,  ex- 
plaining all,  and  vanish;  but,  alas,  she  had  no  funds,  for  the 
meager  salary  of  a  nurse  during  training  is  but  five  dollars 
per  month. 

"We  must  pull  this  case  through !"  he  had  said;  but,  ah,  he 
did  not  know  that  for  this  man  to  live  meant  the  death  of  his 
and  her  happiness. 

The  patient  breathed  heavily.  Once  he  opened  his  eyes — 
wild,  staring  eyes — but  they  were  eyes  that  saw  not,  and,  as 
the  weird,  wild  orbs  closed,  he  muttered,  "I'll  find  her  if  I 
have  to  go  to  hell  to  do  it !" 

At  four  a.  m.  the  patient's  breathing  became  more  labored, 
his  temperature  went  above  the  danger  point,  and  the 
ominous  rattle  of  death  was  heard  in  his  throat.  It  was 
Helen's  duty  to  call  the  house  doctor,  and  she  promptly  did 
so. 

On  either  side  of  the  sick  man's  bed  stood  doctor  and 
nurse.  She  brought  him  the  hypodermic  syringe,  and  strych- 
nia and  whisky  were  subcutaneously  injected,  but  with  no  re- 
sult. Oxygen  was  next  administered,  and  the  life-giving  air 
was  drawn  into  the  patient's  body,  but  in  vain. 

Slowly  the  seconds  ticked  on.  Helen  was  pale  as  death, 
and  Ralph  begged  her  to  retire.  "My  duty  is  here,"  she 
said ;  "I  must  stay  !" 

Ralph  thought  her  behavior  strange,  but  he  loved  her  too 
much  to  order  her  away,  as  it  was  in  his  power  to  do.  He 
could  not  do  other  than  humor  her  whims.  Twice  he  crossed 
to  her  side  of  the  bed  to  do.  ostensibly,  something  for  his 
patient's  relief,  but  in  reality  to  press  her  fair  hand  lovingly 
in  his  as  he  passed.  That  Hand  was  cold  and  unresponsive, 
and  his  heart  was  sore  and  hrs  mind  worried.  There  was  a 
mystery  hanging  over  this  beautiful  girl  he  loved  so  tenderly, 
but  what  it  was  he  could  not  fathom,  and  he  was  too  much 
of  a  gentleman  to  try  and  tear  away  the  veil  which  hid  her 
soul's  secret  from  him. 

Glancing  up  from  his  patient,  he  saw  her  eyes  were  closed 
and  her  lips  moving  inaudibly. 

She  was  praying  for  the  soul  of  the  poor  wretch  who  was 
now  hovering  on  the  brink  of  eternity.  This  beautiful  act 


2O  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

of  Christian  devotion  touched  him  deeply,  and  a  reverential 
feeling  for  this  fair  girl,  so  like  an  angel  in  her  beauty  and 
purity,  mingled  with  his  heart's  fervent  love  for  her. 

Five  a.  m.    The  breathing  is  inaudible;  there  is  a  momen 
of  absolute  silence,  and  then  the  jaw  drops — the  patient  ha. 
paid  the  debt  of  Nature  and  solved  the  great  and  awful  se- 
cret that  we  must  all  some  day  solve,  in  God's  appointed  time. 

"He  is  dead  !"  said  the  doctor  solemnly. 

"And  I  am  free !"  ejaculated  Helen,  with  a  sigh  that  came 
from  the  depths  of  her  very  soul,  the  tears  streaming  from 
her  eyes. 

"Free!  I  do  not  understand  you,  dear!"  said  Ralph  anx- 
iously. 

"Ralph,  dear,  I  have  no  longer  a  secret;  this  man  was  my 
husband !" 

****** 

A  year  has  passed  since  the  death  of  Will  Hastings  in  St. 
Bartholomew's  hospital,  New  York.  The  winter  has  again 
rolled  around,  and  before  an  open  fire,  which  sends  its  cheer- 
ful rays  over  a  richly  furnished  room,  are  seated  a  handsome 
man  and  a  lovely  woman.  They  are  lovers,  it  is  evident,  for 
her  arms  are  about  his  neck,  her  head  upon  his  shoulder.  On 
her  left  hand  is  a  wedding  ring,  which  she  fondles  lovingly. 

"Ralph,  dear,"  says  Helen,  for  it  is  she,  "it  is  one  year  ago 
to-night  that  we  stood  by  that  hospital  bed;  do  you  remem- 
ber, dear?" 

"Do  I  remember,"  answered  Ralph  tenderly,  "do  I  remem- 
ber? Yes,  sweetheart,  for  I  can  never  forget  that  Death 
gave  you  to  me,  and  by  God's  help  nothing  but  Death  shall 
ever  part  us!" 


HOW  UNCLE  CHARLIE  BECAME  A  HERO  OF 
SPANISH  WAR 

Bang!  Bang!!  Bang!!!  Biff!  Bing!!  Bang!!  Banzai! 
Hoch  ! !  Huroo  ! ! ! — Weird  noises  of  exploding  guns,  cannon 
crackers  and  revolver  shots,  a  roar  of  cheers  from  ten  thou- 
sand patriotic  throats.  What  did  it  all  mean  ?  It  meant  just 
this: 

Uncle  Sam's  wounded  and  typhoid-stricken  boys  in  blue 
had  been  brought  to  New  York  from  Montauk  Point,  Long 
Island,  where  they  had  been  dumped  by  transports  returning 
from  Cuba,  more  dead  than  alive,  and  were  being  distributed 
among  the  various  hospitals  of  the  city,  after  engaging  in  the 
most  wickedly  mismanaged  campaign  ever  conducted  by  a 
bunch  of  greedy,  grafting  politicians  and  their  trust  masters, 
who  with  their  embalmed  beef  and  other  devilish  concoctions 
had  done  what  Spanish  bullets  never  could  have  done — re- 
duced the  fever-stricken  American  army  to  nothing  but  a 
bedraggled  band  of  helpless  invalids,  dying  like  flies  in  their 
own  camps  as  well  as  on  the  battle  line.  We  knew  the  sol- 
diers were  coming,  and  great  was  the  excitement  among  the 
nurses,  doctors  and  patients  generally.  The  ward  in  which 
I  had  spent  more  than  a  year  was  prepared  for  the  sick  war- 
riors, nearly  all  the  civilian  patients  being  crowded  into  other 
wards,  I  being  luckily  allowed  to  remain  in  my  usual  quar- 
ters. My  bed  was  up  in  the  corner  of  Ward  9,  which  ad- 
joined Ward  10.  All  traffic  had  to  pass  through  the  various 
wards,  as  there  were  no  side  passages  or  halls.  Ward  10 
had  been  prepared  for  the  most  critical  cases,  and  when  the 
poor  fellows  had  been  carried  in  on  stretchers,  and  made 
as  comfortable  as  possible  in  the  various  beds  assigned  them, 
1  was  in  the  midst  of  a  regular  army  of  military  invalids. 
Nearly  all  were  in  the  acute  stages  of  a  horrible  disease,  the 
spread  of  which  could  have  been  prevented  by  the  most 
primitive  rules  of  sanitation,  and,  oh,  the  anguish  and  suffer- 
ing those  pitiful  faces  disclosed  as  they  were  carried  past  my 
cot. 

M. 


22  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

Though  fortunate  to  have  been  allowed  to  remain  in  my 
corner,  it  was  a  ghastly  corner  at  times.  The  medical  staff 
wanted  to  keep  up  the  spirits  of  their  sick  charges  and  to 
keep  the  mortuary  record  as  low  as  possible,  and  so,  when 
one  of  their  sick  heroes  was  at  the  point  of  death,  they  car- 
ried him,  mattress  and  all,  into  Ward  9,  and  deposited  him 
close  to  my  bed.  This  wasn't  very  pleasant  at  the  best,  but 
burning  candles  and  muttered  prayers  added  an  extra  wrench 
to  a  heart  rent  with  its  own  suffering  and  the  anguish  and; 
misery  of  others. 

By  this  time,  however,  I  had  learned  to  shut  out  the  un-1 
pleasant  and  gruesome  as  far  as  I  possibly  could,  but  it  was 
a  dreadful  struggle  to  do  it  at  times. 

I  soon  made  friends  with  the  poor  fellow  in  the  next  bed  to 
me,  whose  wan,  pinched  face,  burned  by  the  tropic  sun,  was 
a  pathetic  and  grim  reminder  of  the  horrors  of  war  and  dis- 
ease, and  it  was  not  long  before  we  were  great  chums.  I 
wrote  letters  for  him  to  his  mother,  sisters  and  sweetheart, 
all  of  which  he  was  unable  to  do.  The  letters  »f  gratitude 
I  received  from  his  relatives  were  heart-touching.  The  poor 
chap  was  only  a  trifle  over  twenty-two,  and  from  him  and 
other  soldiers,  regulars  and  volunteers,  who  had  gained  suffi- 
cient strength  to  pay  short  visits  to  the  bedsides  of  less 
fortunate  comrades,  I  gathered  so  much  information,  and  be- 
came so  saturated  with  campaign  talk  that  I  gradually  began 
to  believe  I  actually  had  taken  part  in  the  storming  of  San 
Juan  Hill,  just  as  King  George  IV  believed  he  took  part  in 
the  battle  of  Waterloo,  so  much  did  he  hear  about  it.  Among 
the  regulars  I  discovered  men  who  had  been  stationed  at 
Western  posts  that  I  had  visited,  and  who  were  delighted  to 
find  some  one  who  could  talk  about  the  various  places  in 
which  they  had  spent  a  part  of  their  military  service.  Every 
soldier  had  a  number  of  mauser  bullets,  picked  up  in  Cuba 
— bullets  used  by  the  Spaniards,  who  had  the  finest  rifle  in 
the  world  at  that  time.  Of  these  bullets  I  accumulated  quite 
a  quantity,  and,  as  everyone  in  New  York  was  trying  to  get 
one,  I  thought  I  might  be  able  to  pass  those  I  had  on  to  in- 
terested friends. 

On  the  Sunday  following  the  admission  of  the  sick  soldiers 
to  the  hospital,  the  wards  containing  the  military  invalids 
were  thrown  open  to  the  public,  who  were  crazy  to  view  and 
converse  with  the  war  heroes  at  short  range.  It  was  a  fool- 
ish step  to  allow  hundreds  of  people  to  invade  the  quarters  of 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  23 

t 

the  sick,  as  the  soldiers  preferred  to  be  left  alone,  for  though 
some  very  refined  people  visited  the  wards,  and  dropped  flow- 
ers at  various  bedsides,  the  majority  who  came  were  youth- 
ful hoodlums  of  the  most  aggressive  type. 

We  had  discussed  the  visitor  question  long  ere  the  time  of 
their  arrival,  and  as  I  was  quite  a  favorite  with  the  soldiers, 
having  spent  much  time  among  them  in  garrison  towns  here 
.and  abroad,  we  decided  to  give  the  hoodlum  element  a  frigid 
reception  if  they  got  to  be  too  great  a  nuisance. 

It  was  about  three  p.  m.  when  the  doors  were  thrown  open 
to  the  public.  At  the  head  of  each  bed,  close  to  the  recep- 
tar'e  which  holds  a  card  on  which  are  recorded  the  name,  age 
and  date  of  admittance,  nature  of  disease,  etc.,  of  each  pa- 
tient, was  a  little  American  flag,  and  the  orderly  who  placed 
these  flags  in  position  was  determined  that  I  should  have  one, 
too,  and  be  a  hero  for  one  day  at  least.  The  orderly  allowed 
my  flag  to  droop  so  that  it  hid  the  telltale  card  which  would 
have  revealed  the  deception,  for  I  did  not  want  any  tough 
gentlemen  or  inquisitive  ladies  to  note  the  fact  that  I  had  en- 
tered the  hospital  before  the  Spanish  war  had  even  begun. 
There  is  usually  a  funny  side  to  everything,  no  matter  how 
serious,  especially  to  one  who  loves  a  joke.  Only  those  who 
have  a  keen  sense  of  humor  ever  really  live,  or  know  how  to 
enjoy,  appreciate  and  get  all  there  is  out  of  life.  I  am  grate- 
ful to  heaven  that  I  did  not  live  in  the  days  of  the  Pilgrims 
and  Puritans,  dull-witted,  solemn  old  glooms,  who  would 
hang  a  cat  on  Monday  for  killing  a  rat  on  Sunday.  A  sense 
of  humor  would  have  been  the  salvation  of  those  long-faced 
folk.  What  a  blessing  a  little  ragtime  or  a  blood-curdling 
two-step  would  have  been  on  those  cold  New  England  nights, 
when  the  shadows  crept  over  the  floor  and  youthful  spirits 
were  bottled  up  tight,  and  put  under  lock  and  key  as  things 
of  the  devil.  This  is  certainly  anything  but  a  joyous  world 
to-day,  but  we  at  least  know  how  to  laugh  and  dare  to  laugh ; 
and  laughter  is  the  finest  tonic  and  the  best  medicine  in  the 
world.  Anyway,  I'd  made  up  my  mind  to  revel  in  a  little 
of  the  world's  best  and  cheapest  cure  for  aches  and  ills  on ' 
this  particular  day. 

Carefully  I  primed  myself  for  the  wild-eyed  hordes  which 
I  knew  by  the  roar  and  racket  were  about  to  burst  upon  us. 
Without  a  ^moment's  hesitation,  in  they  rushed  exactly  on 
the  stroke  of  "three."  Soon  there  was  a  crowd  around  every 
bed,  while  another  mob  was  pushing  its  way  to  wards  be- 


24  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

yond,  hoping  to  find  greater  horrors  there,  but  discovering 
there  were  no  human  heads  being  severed  from  bodies,  or 
arms  and  legs  amputated  publicly,  the  eager,  expectant,  pop- 
eyed,  ill-mannered  crowd  surged  back  again  to  view  the  spots 
that  had  been  ignored  in  the  first  wild  rush.  About  sixty  per 
cent,  of  the  visitors  were  boys  from  ten  to  eighteen  and  girls 
from  nine  to  fifteen.  A  bunch  of  these  young  savages  leaned 
on  the  foot  of  my  bed,  pushing  it  back  against  the  wall.  That 
was  more  than  I  could  stand,  and,  as  the  orderly  happened 
.  to  be  near  my  bed,  I  called  to  him,  and  he  quickly  hustled 
'  three  of  the  worst  hoodlums  to  the  elevator,  where  they  were 
personally  conducted  to  the  street.  By  the  time  he  returned 
a  slightly  saner  and  quieter  group  surrounded  me. 

"Was  youse  at  San  Juan  Hill?"  said  one,  a  typical  New 
York  tough. 

"Why,  of  course,"  said  I.  "I  was  at  the  top  first,  but  I 
didn't  want  to  rob  Roosevelt  of  his  glory,  and  so  I  let  the 
papers  say  he  got  there  ahead  of  me." 

"Did  you  get  shot  many  times?"  This  from  a  young  lady 
of  the  hired-girl  type,  who  had  edged  her  way  into  the  crowd 
and  was  gazing  with  intense  sympathy  at  me,  but  disap- 
pointed like  the  rest  because  there  were  no  operations  in 
progress  and  no  blood  coursing  freely  in  all  directions. 

"Why,  I  was  so  shot  full  of  mauser  bullets,"  said  I,  "that 
everybody  thought  I  was  a  cartridge  factory.  The  captain 
of  the  ship  that  brought  me  up  from  Cuba  told  the  doctor  I 
was  so  full  of  lead,  if  he  didn't  cut  more  bullets  out  of  me 
and  throw  them  overboard,  I  was  so  heavy  I'd  sink  the  ship. 
Why,  there  is  a  lead-pencil  factory  that  has  offered  me  a 
thousand  dollars  for  the  lead  in  me  now.  That's  so,  Captain 
Griscom,  isn't  it?"  said  I  to  my  poor  friend,  Private  James 
Griscom,  who  was  lying  in  the  next  bed  to  me,  and  who  was 
so  convulsed  with  laughter  at  the  way  I  was  joshing  the 
crowd  that  he  thought  it  best  to  hide  his  head  under  the  white 
coverlet.  The  people  around  us  watched  with  intense  interest 
his  body  quiver,  shake,  contract  and  expand  as  one  convul- 
sion of  laughter  succeeded  another.  They  thought  he  was 
in  the  middle  of  a  fit  until  he  quieted  down  from  exhaustion, 
and  then  they  asked  if  he  was  dead.  After  a  while,  Jim, 
who  was  nearly  suffocated  by  this  time,  put  his  head  above 
the  bedclothes,  and  said  with  mock  dignity : 

"That's  right,  General  Shatter."  The  mention  of  Shafter's 
name  excited  the  liveliest  interest. 


Uncle 'Charlie's'  Story  Book 


One  individual  suggested  that  Shafter  was  a  blond,  while 
I  was  a  brunette;  then,  too,  Shafter  was  fat,  while  I  was 
thin. 

"Of  course  I  was  a  fat  blond  before  I  went  to  the  tropics, 
but  the  tropics  turn  some  people  black  in  twenty-four  hours, 
and  make  them  thin  in  a  week."  The  crowd  around  my  bed 
was  getting  larger  and  more  inquisitive  than  ever,  some  ask- 
ing fairly  sensible  questions,  though  in  the  main  my  inquisi- 
tors showed  astonishing  ignorance  of  everything  pertaining 
to  war  or  physiology.  Some  fairly  respectable  people  now 
joined  the  throng.  They  elbowed  the  boys  aside  and  spoke 
to  me  with  sympathy  and  kindness.  I  had  been  careful  that 
people  of  this  kind  did  not  hear  the  Shafter  and  mauser 
story.  When  they  had  departed  another  bunch  of  excited 
sight-seers  of  the  "dese,  dems  and  dose"  type  asked  if  they 
could  see  the  bullets  and  have  explained  to  them  where  they 
had  struck.  This  request  I  was  delighted  to  accede  to. 

"This  bullet,"  said  I,  holding  up  a  long,  slim,  steel- jacketed 
mauser,  "struck  me  in  the  pyloric  region  of  the  stomach,  and, 
perforating  the  pancreas,  cut  a  hole  in  the  medulla  oblongata, 
fracturing  the  femur  of  the  right  leg,  struck  a  tree,  splitting 
it  in  halves,  and  killing  ten  Spaniards  who  were  standing  be- 
hind it.  I  value  this  bullet  above  all  others,  and  five  thou- 
sand dollars  wouldn't  buy  it.  This  bullet,"  holding  up  an- 
other mauser  projectile,  "has  also  a  wonderful  history;  it 
struck  me  in  the  liver,  ascended  my  right  nostril,  being  great- 
ly thinned  out  by  the  heat,  and  went  through  Colonel  Roose- 
velt's hat  on  the  rebound.  You  see,  the  Colonel  and  I  have 
been  very  close  together  during  this  campaign.  Why,  if  I'd 
have  contracted  typhoid  fever,  he'd  have  gone  and  got  it, 
too,  he  was  so  fond  of  me  he  wouldn't  let  me  out  of  his  sight. 
This  bullet  hit  me  just  as  I  was  falling  over  a  tree  stump, 
and  for  a  month  I  had  to  sleep  standing  up,  because  it  was 
too  painful  to  sit  down;  I  have  two  more  bullets  hid  in  my 
moustache  and  goatee,  but  I  won't  be  able  to  show  them  to 
you  until  I  get  a  clean  shave." 

I  had  my  audience  almost  breathless,  and  Private  Griscom, 
of  the  i6th  U.  S.  Infantry,  in  the  next  bed,  signaled  to 
Frank,  the  orderly,  who  handed  me  a  slip  of  paper,  on  which 
was  written :  "Jim  says  would  you  mind  cutting  it  out  for 
a  while,  as  he  is  nearly  dead  from  laughing."  Just  as  I  had 
finished  reading  the  note  and  Frank  was  driving  the  crowd 
away,  telling  them  General  Shafter  (myself)  was  too  in- 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 


disposed  to  see  any  more  visitors,  I  saw  a  stylish,  beautiful 
girl  walking  slowly  down  the  center  of  the  ward.  She  had 
noticed  the  huge  crowd  around  my  bed  and  had  seen  Frank 
drive  them  away,  and  was  suddenly  interested. 

I  could  not  take  my  eyes  from  that  exquisite  face ;  she  was 
stunningly  gowned,  her  attire,  though  simple,  being  in  per- 
fect taste.  She  was  a  decided  blond  of  medium  height  and 
beautifully  rounded  figure.  Her  hair  more  nearly  approached 
that  so-called  golden  type  which  song  writers  bestow  so 
bountifully  upon  their  heroines  that  it  is  a  matter  for  won- 
derment the  supply  has  not  long  ere  this  been  exhausted. 
Her  eyes  were  blue  with  a  suspicion  of  the  violet  peeping 
from  them. 

I  am  describing,  remember,  not  a  woman  of  fancy  from 
the  realms  of  fiction,  but  a  real  flesh-and-blood  American  girl, 
the  daughter  of  a  wealthy  but  democratic  family  of  progres- 
sive ideas.  My  heart  began  to  jump  as  this  vision  of  loveli- 
ness appeared,  throbbing  as  it  would  have  done  if  an  angel 
had  been  approaching  me.  My  visitor  (for  she  was  making 
her  way  toward  my  bed)  looked  into  my  eyes  with  a  world 
of  sympathy,  and  then  her  beautiful  face  broke  into  an  en- 
gaging smile,  a  smile  of  encouragement  and  hope. 

I  tried  when  I  saw  her  eyes  wandering  in  my  direction  to 
tear  down  the  flag  which  was  so  bravely  decorating  the  top 
of  my  bed,  for  my  mind  was  swept  with  a  sudden  dreadful 
thought.  You  see,  I  did  not  mind  posing  as  a  hero  of  the 
Spanish  War  and  keeping  up  the  deception  with  an  amazing 
amount  of  fabrication,  an  unique  distortion  of  the  truth 
which  did  no  one  any  harm  (weird  stories  and  gory  inci- 
dents which  my  aggressive  audience  would  have  conjured  up 
in  their  own  minds,  had  I  declined  to  enter  the  realms  of 
martial  heroes  for  my  amusement  and  their  instruction), 
but  I  would  rather  have  perished  from  the  earth  than  to 
have  been  guilty  of  any  misrepresentation  in  the  presence  of 
this  adorably  gentle  and  beautiful  creature. 

I  was  prepared  for  the  worst;  I  was  going  to  tell  her  that 
I  had  no  right  to  the  flag  that  waved  proudly  above  my  head ; 
you  see,  I  felt  confident,  if  she  thought  I  was  a  soldier,  she 
doubtless  would  place  laurels  upon  my  brow  and  exalt  me 
to  the  highest  seat  in  the  warrior's  Valhalla.  But  if  I  were 
not  a  soldier,  a  hero  of  the  Spanish  War,  I  felt  equally  con- 
fident (and  the  thought  nearly  crushed  me,  crushed  me  be- 
cause I  had  not  had  a  visitor  or  heard  a  voice  of  sympathy 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  27 

for  weeks)  that  when  she  knew  that  I  was  but  an  ordinary 
human  who  had  fallen  in  the  commonplace  battle  of  life, 
and  was  now  at  the  mercy  of  that  cruel  fate  which  seems  to 
delight  in  torturing  the  hapless  and  helpless,  she  would  pass 
me  by  with  disdain. 

All  these  thoughts  rushed  through  my  mind  like  a  mill 
race  during  the  few  seconds  that  elapsed  from  the  time  I  first 
saw  her  until  her  beautiful  lips  parted,  and  her  voice,  tremu- 
lous with  emotion,  pity  and  sympathy,  said  soothingly:  "I 
hope  you  are  not  suffering  much  to-day." 

"Thanks,"  I  replied ;  "in  spite  of  the  horde  of  visitors  that 
have  crowded  about  our  beds,  I  am  feeling  better  and  more 
cheerful  than  I  have  in  a  long  time.  Won't  you  please  sit 
down  and  stay  a  moment?"  I  pleaded.  "You  will  make  me 
so  happy  if  you  will." 

"Thanks,"  she  said  with  a  smile;  "I  should  be  delighted  to 
chat  with  any  of  you  brave  fellows." 

Her  remark  made  me  feel  exceedingly  guilty,  and,  though 
I  thought  my  ability  to  blush  was  long  a  thing  of  the  past,  a 
ruddy  hue  suffused  my  cheeks  just  as  the  Sister  Superior 
of  the  hospital,  who  was  making  a  tour  of  the  institution 
with  some  very  prominent  people,  entered  the  ward.  The 
sister,  a  person  of  great  refinement  and  charming  manners, 
and  always  exceedingly  courteous  to  me,  stopped  with  her 
guests  at  the  foot  of  my  bed,  and,  as  was  customary  with  her, 
inquired  with  her  usual  affability  how  I  felt,  and  then  added: 

"I  am  afraid  you  have  some  fever  to-day." 

"I  don't  feel  feverish,  sister,"  I  replied;  "really  I  do  not." 

"Probably  the  rush  of  visitors  we  have  had  has  excited  you 
too  much,  but  don't  worry,  those  flushed  cheeks  are  very  be- 
coming," and  with  a  smile  she  passed  on.  I  was  so  over- 
come with  the  compliment,  coming  from  such  an  unusual 
source,  that  my  cheeks  got  more  radiant  than  ever.  My 
beautiful  visitor,  however,  was  quite  concerned  about  the 
feverish  symptoms. 

"I  hope  your  temperature  is  not  due  to  a  wound  you  re- 
ceived in  Cuba  or  Porto  Rico,"  she  exclaimed  anxiously. 

"I  am  afraid  you  are  putting  me  in  the  hero  class,"  I  re- 
plied deprecatingly,  "and  I  assure  you  I  do  not  belong  there." 

"You  brave  fellows  are  far  too  modest." 

"Yes,  miss,"  chirped  my  poor  Michigan  chum,  who  had 
been  watching  the  scene,  "Captain  Douglas  is  far  too  modest 
for  his  own  good,  and  he's  so  chock  full  of  mauser  bullets 


28  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

that,  when  he  turns  in  bed,  he  makes  a  noise  like  a  can  full 
of  marbles  being  rolled  up  hill.  Why  he  was  the  bravest 
man  we  had  down  in  Cuba;  Roosevelt  got  the  credit,  but 
there's  the  man  that  did  the  righting." 

I  was  too  horrified  at  this  sally  of  Jim's  to  laugh,  though 
it  nearly  killed  me  to  hold  in;  my  fair  visitor  was  a  trifle 
embarrassed,  as  she  evidently  thought  the  subject  too  serious 
for  jest. 

"James  Griscom,"  I  said  with  a  smile,  "has  suffered  so 
much,  his  mind  wanders  at  times.  He  insists  on  taking  me 
into  action  with  him  and  making  me  the  hero  of  sanguinary 
encounters,  in  which  he  was  the  hero,  but  in  which  I  took 
no  part." 

"Well,  at  least  you  might  be  polite  enough  to  tell  the 
young  lady  about  the  bullets  that  made  you  look  like  a 
cartridge  factory,  General  Shafter  that  was,  Major  Douglas 
that  is,"  persisted  the  incorrigible  Jim,  "and  especially  the 
one  you  told  the  crowd  about  this  noon,  that  went  twice 
through  your  heart,  knocked  a  mule's  tail,  went  slap  through 
a  tree,  and  killed  two  hundred  Spaniards  who  were  hiding 
behind  it." 

My  beautiful  visitor  saw  my  cheeks  blazing  like  red  fire  on 
the  Fourth  of  July,  and  was  horrified  at  Griscom  for  saying 
things  which  seemed  to  embarrass  me  so  much.  I  assured 
her  that  Griscom  was  a  confirmed  joker,  and  begged  her  not 
to  take  him  seriously,  as  romancing  was  his  only  amusement. 

"Of  course,  miss,  I've  been  jollyin'  him,"  said  Jim,  in  an 
explanatory  tone,  "because  he  sometimes  jollies  me,  and  we 
try  to  keep  each  other's  courage  up  by  having  a  little  fun 
when  we  see  the  opportunity,  and,  believe  me,  we  don't  have 
it  often." 

"Yes,  Jim,"  said  I,  "but  it's  awfully  hard  at  times  to  jest 
with  an  aching  heart  and  a  pain-racked  body." 

"Well,  I  don't  have  to  grieve,"  smiled  Jim,  "because  the 
doctor  says  I'm  going  to  get  well  in  a  week  or  so,  and  I'll 
soon  be  able  to  get  around  and  go  home  to  the  folks,  while 
friend  Douglas  there,  I  hear  he  has  no  chance  at  all,  and  he'll 
never  walk  in  his  life.  That's  so,  ain't  it,  old  pard?" 

The  tears  were  in  the  eyes  of  my  beautiful  visitor;  she 
dropped  her  card  on  my  bed,  asked  me  if  she  might  call  the 
following  day  and  bring  some  flowers,  as  to-day  she  had 
given  away  all  she  possessed.  She  also  asked  if  she  might 
call  at  least  one  visiting  day  a  week  until  I  recovered.  I 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  29 

nodded  a  grateful  assent;  there  was  something  in  my  throat 
that  made  speech  just  then  impossible.  She  bade  us  both 
good-by,  and,  as  the  tears  were  again  welling  up  in  her  beau- 
tiful eyes,  withdrew,  just  as  the  doctor  was  approaching, 
for  the  Sister  Superior  had  sent  him  to  me,  as  my  face  de- 
noted a  temperature  of  at  least  102. 

I  saw  "Doc"  look  enviously  after  the  departing  angel,  who 
had  flown  into  my  drab  world  of  sorrow  and  care.  Just  as 
she  reached  the  door  of  the  ward  she  turned  and  waved  her 
hand  to  me  in  a  farewell  salute,  which  I  immediately  re- 
turned. The  doctor  was  now  at  my  side  watching  the  scene, 
his  fingers  upon  my  pulse. 

"Say,  Doug,"  said  the  doctor,  "I  don't  wonder  your  pulse 
is  on  a  rampage  and  that  you  have  a  temperature.  If  I  had 
anything  as  classy  as  that  paying  me  visits,  I'd  have  a  tem- 
perature that  would  burn  a  hole  in  a  brass  brick.  I  don't 
know  whether  to  give  you  phenacetin,  bromide  or  an  ice 
bath,  but  remember  the  next  time  she  calls,  I  want  an  intro- 
duction." 

"Cut  out  the  dope,  Doc,"  said  I;  "all  I  want  is  to  be  left 
alone  to  dream." 

"All  right,  old  scout;  I'm  wise;  you'll  get  a  bromide  high 
ball.  I  guess  that  will  hold  you  for  a  while,"  and  Doc  dis- 
appeared, leaving  me  to  my  thoughts,  sweetly  sad  and  sadly 
sweet. 

There  were  no  knock-out  drops,  sedatives  or  hypnotics 
that  could  have  made  me  sleep  for  more  than  a  few  moments 
during  that  wakeful  and  memorable  night.  In  my  posses- 
sion was  a  dainty  card,  which  I  handled  carefully  and  rev- 
erently, revealing  the  identity  of  my  entrancing  visitor,  Miss 
May  Edgerton,  the  Algonquin,  New  York,  a  huge  apartment 
house  which  towers  above  its  neighboring  dwellings,  looking 
down  from  its  fifteenth  story  on  the  most  aristocratic  section 
of  Riverside  Drive.  I  felt  that  Miss  Edgerton  must  have 
had  more  than  ordinary  advantages,  for,  if  she  had  belonged 
to  the  suddenly  rich,  she  would  have  taken  no  interest  in 
anyone  but  herself,  and  had  no  aim  in  life  except  to  display 
her  clothes,  and  be  the  center  of  a  money-burning  crowd  of 
empty-headed,  pleasure-loving  idiots.  I  knew  instinctively 
that  this  fair  bud  of  womanhood  was  not  of  ordinary  clay, 
but  was  a  girl  of  high  ideals  and  serious  purpose,  and  that 
she  did  not  want  to  spend  a  moment  of  her  valuable  time 
burning  incense  at  the  alfv  of  fashion  and  social  frivolity 


30  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

generally.  Though  her  dress  showed  perfect  taste,  she  was 
gowned  rather  to  avoid  attention  than  to  attract  it.  But  no 
matter  how  simple  and  unpretentious  her  garb  may  have 
been,  in  the  radiance  of  her  spiritual  beauty  and  the  grace 
and  distinction  of  her  manner,  one  would  have  forgotten 
whether  she  was  gowned  in  gorgeous  silk  or  humble  ging- 
ham. And  so  I  mused  and  meditated.  Mine  had  been  a 
weird,  botched  life.  Fate  had  been  kind  to  me  in  many  ways, 
and  yet  the  apples  of  gold  that  gleamed  inspiringly  and 
plentifully  on  the  tree  of  my  existence,  ever  as  I  drew  near 
to  pluck  them,  had  turned  to  dead  sea  fruit  in  my  hands. 
Would  it  be  so  again  ?  Time  alone  would  tell. 

Ill  luck  dogs  the  footsteps  of  some  people  untiringly,  but 
it  did  not  follow  me  relentlessly.  There  was  no  avenging 
Nemesis  forever  camping  on  my  trail.  When  things  became 
almost  unbearable,  and  the  shadows  closed  in,  turning  even 
the  noon-day  sun  to  Cimmerian  darkness,  a  kindly  Provi- 
dence always  sent  a  faint  ray  of  golden  hope  through  the 
seemingly  impenetrable  pall  of  gloom  and  despair  that  hov- 
ered about  me,  and  bade  me  take  heart  again. 

In  chronic  sickness  one  is  soon  forgotten.  Even  in  one's 
own  home  friends  and  relatives  gradually  get  into  the  habit 
of  passing  one's  door  on  tiptoe,  and  alas !  too  often  members 
of  one's  family  become  peeved  and  irritable,  because  sick- 
ness lingers  and  health  refuses  to  be  coaxed.  In  a  hospital, 
however,  it  is  best  to  cut  thoughts  of  friends  and  relatives 
out  of  one's  mind.  Better  the  hearty  "Hope  you  feel  better 
to-day"  from  a  black  son  of  Ham,  who  has  been  carved  in 
a  crap  game,  than  an  apologetic  letter  from  a  one-time  friend, 
who,  realizing  that  loans  cannot  be  negotiated  with  the  pen- 
niless and  helpless,  as  they  once  were  in  those  olden  days, 
when  money  was  plentiful,  manufactures  a  trivial  excuse  for 
leaving  you  on  the  shelf  of  forgotten  things,  caring  nought, 
now  that  the  last  dollar  has  been  extracted  from  a  once  oblig- 
ing purse,  whether  you  sink  or  swim,  live  or  die. 

And  thus  I  ruminated,  oblivious  of  all  about  me.  For  sev- 
eral hours  the  gruesome  sound  of  the  death  rattle  had  been 
falling  on  my  ears  unheeded,  and  when  at  last  an  ominous 
silence  proclaimed  the  departure  of  a  human  soul  to  a 
higher  existence,  and  the  sheeted  remains  were  wheeled  by 
my  bed,  I  scarce  noted  their  passing.  At  other  times  the 
pitiful  clay  that  was  once  a  man,  with  all  the  brightness  of 
life  dancing  ecstatically  before  his  eyes,  as  wood  nymphs 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  31 

dance  in  the  green  glades  and  mystic  glens,  deep  in  the  heart 
of  the  forest,  would  have  called  forth  my  profoundest  sym- 
pathy, the  history  of  his  life,  which  now  had  drawn  to  ?  close, 
I  would  have  constructed  from  childhood  up,  just  as  a  child 
builds  with  bricks  of  wood,  and  then  have  destroyed  it,  in 
order  to  create  an  imaginary  life  of  an  entirely  different  sort. 
To-night,  however,  I  was  indifferent  to  all  about  me.  I  want- 
ed to  be  alone  with  my  thoughts,  and  my  thoughts  soared, 
even  to  the  gates  of  heaven.  I  was  weaving  a  dream  of  gold, 
though  I  knew  the  warp  and  woof  of  that  gilded  fabric,  glori- 
ous in  design,  beautiful  in  texture,  would  in  all  probability 
some  day  crumble  to  dust  and  leave  me  heavier  of  heart  than 
ever  and  with  a  train  of  memories  that  would  wound  and 
rend  my  soul  and  whip  the  weakened  body  with  a  lash  of 
scorpions.  I  was,  however,  willing  to  pay  the  price  for  the 
intoxication  and  bliss  of  those  midnight  thoughts,  which  car- 
ried me  afar  from  a  white  cot  of  pain  to  a  world  where  all 
was  love,  bliss  and  beauty,  the  land  of  eternal  youth  and  sun- 
shine, a  mystic  realm  'tween  earth  and  heaven — and  better 
than  either. 

The  laggard  hours  of  night  crawled  by  as  though  Father 
Time  was  too  exhausted  from  his  eternal  journeyings  to  go 
another  step.  The  day  was  breaking,  and  for  the  first  time 
in  years  of  misery  and  wretchedness  I  greeted  the  indications 
of  its  approach  with  the  same  delight  and  enthusiasm  as  does 
proud  chanticleer  when  he  salutes  the  rosy  dawn  and  hails 
the  coming  of  Aurora's  golden  chariot,  mounting  high  into 
the  eastern  sky,  with  clamorous  rejoicing. 

At  last  all  was  activity  and  bustle.  Another  day  had 
dawned,  a  day  of  hope  for  some,  of  despair  for  others. 
Hitherto  all  days  and  all  nights  had  looked  alike  to  me,  but 
not  so  now.  Some  one  had  come  into  my  life,  some  one  had 
taken  an  interest  in  one  the  world  had  forgotten,  and  my 
•'heart  throbbed  with  the  joy  of  a  new-found  happiness.  On  a 
foundation  as  filmy  and  unsubstantial  as  the  web  of  a  spider, 
whose  tenuous  strands  would  scarce  support  the  weight  of  a 
peregrinating  butterfly,  I  built  a  castle,  majestic  and  grand, 
stupendous  in  size  and  glorious  in  conception,  its  gilded  tur- 
rets probing  the  blue  vaults  of  heaven,  putting  to  blush  the 
fiery  chariot  of  the  sun,  which  sought  the  protection  of  a  con- 
venient cloud,  as  though  desirous  of  retiring  from  a  competi- 
tion that  was  entirely  hopeless. 

Oh,  what  a  castle !     The  towering  walls,  the  casement  at 


32  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

which  she,  the  adorable,  would  at  night  appear  to  listen  to 
my  fervent  serenading,  her  shimmering  tresses  falling  in 
tangled  loveliness  over  rounded  shoulders,  glistening  in  the 
raoonlight,  and  causing  the  envious  moon  to  disregard  its 
cosmic  course  and  stray  earthward  to  gaze  at  this  new  and,, 
brilliant  luminary  that  had  dared  to  challenge  its  title  of 
Queen  of  the  Night.  Thus  did  I  dream,  and  oh,  how  precious 
and  divine  a  gift  is  that  which  blots  out  the  cares  of  the  day 
with  all  its  attendant  miseries,  lets  loose  the  cruel  chains  of 
pain  that  bind  the  tortured  body  to  the  rack  of  suffering  and 
bids  the  wearied  spirit  sail  afar  in  its  dream  ship  to  those 
golden  realms  of  fancy,  where  the  ills  of  the  flesh  intrude  not, 
where  the  worries  of  the  day  are  forgotten  and  old  loves  and 
new  loves  come  to  greet  and  lead  one  through  fields  elysian, 
where  the  springtime  of  youth  blots  out  the  furrows  from  the 
brow  of  care  and  the  flowers  blossom  under  one's  feet  and 
eyes  look  into  eyes  which  speak  again  and  longing  lips  are 
ravished  with  a  thousand  kisses.  And  then  the  dream  ship 
crumbles  and  sinks  to  earth,  the  grim  doors  of  the  dungeon 
of  pain  swing  open  to  receive  you  while  a  thousand  demons 
scoff  and  mock  as  the  portals  of  hope  close  on  you,  per- 
chance, forever. 

My  reveries,  inexpressibly  delightful  and  entrancing,  were 
rudely  shaken  by  the  arrival  of  the  breakfast  tray.  The  or- 
derly noted  my  pallor  (for  I  had  not  slept  at  all  during  the 
night),  and  told  me  he  thought  that  mauser  bullets  as  a 
steady  diet  did  not  agree  with  me.  I  did  not  respond  to  his 
pleasantries,  my  thoughts  were  too  far  away.  I  was,  how- 
ever, worried  to  think  my  face  showed  the  effects  of  a  sleep- 
less night. 

The  feverish  tints  of  the  day  before  had  vanished  from  my 
pallid  cheeks.  Breakfast  and  prayers  were  over  and  the 
ward  put  in  order  for  the  day.  Poor  Jim  in  the  next  bed 
wasn't  feeling  so  well,  and  was  in  no  mood  to  receive  visitors 
or  talk;  he  was  busy  with  his  own  thoughts  and  his  own  trou- 
bles. He  had  a  sweetheart  in  a  little  village  back  in  the 
northern  woods  of  Michigan,  and,  as  she  wrote  to  him  every 
day,  she  monopolized  most  of  his  thoughts  and  attention. 
The  letters  he  received  from  Alice  (his  betrothed)  were  kept 
under  his  pillow,  and  whenever  he  was  well  enough  he  would 
draw  one  from  its  hiding-place  and  read  and  re-read  it.  Poor 
fellow,  he  never  gazed  upon  Alice  or  his  family  again.  At 
his  urgent  request,  and  the  pleadings  of  his  family,  when  it 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  33 

was  found  that  he  could  not  recover,  he  was  sent  home,  but 
died  ere  he  gazed  upon  his  loved  ones.  I  gathered  up  the 
trifles  he  had  left  behind,  and  sent  them  with  a  letter  of  con- 
dolence to  his  relatives,  who  were  terribly  grief-stricken  at 
their  loss,  as,  too,  was  I. 

It  was  now  nearly  eleven  o'clock,  and,  to  my  intense  de- 
light, I  saw  Miss  Edgerton  enter  the  ward;  she  nodded  to  the 
sister  in  charge,  handed  her  some  eggs  and  flowers  for  gen- 
eral distribution,  and  a  few  seconds  later  the  fair  vision  of 
'  yesterday  and  the  fairer  vision  of  to-day  was  at  my  bedside. 

She  greeted  me  warmly,  and  inquired  if  I  had  rested  well. 
I  told  her  I  had  slept  only  fairly  well.  I  did  not,  however, 
dare  tell  her  why. 

"Only  fairly,"  she  exclaimed  in  a  voice  full  of  compassion; 
"I'm  so  sorry,"  and  instantly  a  look  of  intense  sympathy  ap- 
peared in  her  beautiful  eyes.  "Was  the  excitement  of  yester- 
day too  much  for  you?"  she  inquired  still  in  a  voice  that  was 
balm  to  the  troubles  of  my  soul. 

"Oh,  no  !"  I  exclaimed  reassuringly;  "one  quickly  gets  used 
to  anything  that  occurs  in  a  place  of  this  kind.  Gruesome 
and  unpleasant  things  I  ignore,  shut  them  out  entirely  and 
try  and  direct  my  thoughts  in  more  cheerful  channels.  If 
I  were  not  able  to  do  that  I  think  I  would  go  insane  at 
times." 

"You  brave  fellows  are  so  heroic,"  she  said,  with  a  thrill 
of  admiration  in  her  voice;  "the  public  does  not  appreciate 
all  you  have  done  and  are  willing  to  do  for  your  country, 
and  you  are  all  so  modest  about  it." 

Ere  the  music  of  her  beautifully  modulated  voice  had 
ceased  to  ravish  the  ears,  Griscom  opened  his  eyes,  utterly 
ignoring  the  warning  I  had  flashed  to  him,  and,  after  greet- 
ing Miss  Edgerton  with  a  hearty  "Good  morning,  miss,"  in  a 
low  but  tantalizing  tone  of  voice,  said: 

"Douglas  was  the  only  real  hero  in  the  war;  if  they  hadn't 
shipped  him  home  from  Cuba,  he'd  have  killed  every  Span- 
iard on  the  island,"  and  here  Jim  smiled  faintly,  closed  his 
eyes,  and  began  dreaming  once  more  of  home  and  Alice. 

"Poor  Jim,"  I  whispered,  "he's  not  so  well  to-day,  and  that 
accounts  for  him  telling  such  gory  stories  about  me.  It's 
my  belief  that  the  hot  tropic  sun  has  affected  him  slightly, 
and  his  condition  worries  me  greatly  at  times.  The  mind, 
too,  of  the  poor  fellow  in  the  bed  opposite  is  entirely  shat- 
tered." 


34  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

Again  that  tender  look  of  compassion  came  into  the  eyes 
of  this  ministering  angel,  who  was  counting  the  costs  of  war, 
her  hatred  of  the  thing  itself  and  its  terrible  consequences. 

Here  she  placed  in  my  hands  a  box  of  beautiful  flowers, 
and,  as  I  lifted  the  lid  and  gazed  upon  roses  almost  as  fair  as 
their  donor,  I  was  the  happiest  fellow  in  the  world.  I  tried 
to  thank  her,  but  in  a  deliciously  imperious  way  she  silenced 
me. 

"With  your  permission,"  I  said  gratefully,  "I  will  share 
your  lovely  gift  with  poor  Griscom  when  he  awakes,  al- 
though he  doesn't  deserve  them  for  telling  such  atrocious 
fairy  stories  about  me." 

"I'm  going  to  take  Mr.  Griscom's  word  in  preference  to 
yours,  if  you'll  permit  me,"  she  remarked  in  her  usual  frank 
and  charming  way,  that  made  my  words  of  protest  die  upon 
my  lips,  "for,  as  your  comrade  says,  you  are  far  too  modest 
to  do  yourself  justice,  and  also,  I  think,  for  your  own  good." 

My  cheeks  were  aflame  once  again ;  I  was  going  to  be  made 
a  hero  in  spite  of  myself.  Of  course  I  could  tell  the  truth 
and  make  a  clean  breast  of  it  all,  but  the  trouble  was  she 
wouldn't  believe  me  if  I  did,  thanks  to  Griscom's  romancing. 
It  was  an  embarrassing  position,  and  every  moment  I  seemed 
to  be  getting  deeper  into  the  mire.  I  was  playing  the  part  of 
an  impostor,  and  where  I  was  going  to  come  out,  without  in- 
curring her  contempt,  I  could  not  see.  I  did  not  know  where 
it  was  going  to  end,  and  did  not  dare  to  think.  So,  to  lead 
her  thoughts  into  other  channels,  I  called  the  nurse,  who 
placed  the  flowers  in  water,  and  stood  them  on  a  little  table  by 
my  bedside.  I  kept  Miss  Edgerton,  as  far  as  I  possibly 
could,  from  Cuba  and  Porto  Rico,  the  cold  chills  creeping  up 
and  down  my  spine  every  time  she  led  me  back  to  those 
tropic  isles.  I  could  feel  she  wanted  to  ask  me  some  per- 
sonal questions,  but  prudence  dictated  that  I  should  keep 
silence  about  myself  for  a  while  at  least.  And  so  we  dis- 
cussed books,  plays,  music  and  various  branches  of  art,  au- 
thors, composers;  compared  notes  on  people,  travel  and  nu- 
merous things  of  interest.  She  was  a  capital  conversation- 
alist, and  talked  delightfully  on  every  subject.  I  was  over- 
joyed to  find  that,  while  at  Vassar,  she  had  become  deeply 
interested  in  sociology.  The  study  of  social  problems  pro- 
foundly interested  her. 

She  was  progressive  in  all  her  ideas,  and  her  presence  in 
this  hospital  was  a  part  of  the  work  she  was  doing,  in  her 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  35 

unobtrusive  way,  to  spread  a  little  sunshine  where  there  was 
most  need  of  it.  She  was  athletic  and  enjoyed  sport,  and 
reveled  in  a  dance,  a  good  play  or  an  opera,  but  social  func- 
tions bored  her,  and  she  sought  only  the  society  of  those 
whose  ideals,  point  of  view  and  ideas  generally  ran  in  simi- 
lar channels  to  her  own.  She  saw  there  was  serious  work  to 
do  in  this  world,  and  she  meant  to  bravely  do  her  part  of  it, 
for  humanity  with  its  troubles,  cares  and  sorrows  had  taken, 
a  deep  hold  on  her  sympathetic  heart.  She  hated  war,  but 
wished  to  study  the  horrors  of  it,  so  that  she  might  have  a 
greater  incentive  to  work  for  peace.  She  was  one  of  that 
mighty  band  of  noble  women  who  to-day  are  fighting  the 
bondage  of  sex,  striving  by  their  self-sacrificing  efforts  in 
this  direction  to  place  the  whole  of  the  race  upon  a  higher 
plane.  As  she  had  expressed  her  hatred  of  war,  I  thought 
this  would  be  an  excellent  opportunity  to  ask  her  if  she  would 
not  accept  my  collection  of  mauser  bullets  and  throw  them 
away,  as  the  things  were  hateful  to  me. 

"But  surely,"  she  protested,  "you  would  like  to  keep  some, 
for  you  doubtless  have  friends  and  relatives  who  would  like 
to  have  them  for  a  souvenir." 

"My  relatives  are  far  away,  and  I  do  not  expect  to  have 
any  visitors,"  I  replied  regretfully,  "no  matter  how  long  I 
remain  here." 

"Have  you  no  friends  or  relatives  near?"  she  inquired 
sympathetically.  "It  must  be  hard  to  be  far  from  one's 
own." 

"Yes,  it  is  hard,  Miss  Edgerton,"  I  replied,  "but  in  sickness 
and  misfortune  one  is  soon  forgotten.  I  know  only  too  well 
that  life  holds  little  in  the  future  for  me  that  will  be  worth 
while.  I  am  doomed  to  chronic  invalidism,  and  soon  I  shall 
be  herded  with  other  unfortunates  in  some  secluded  spot,  and 
in  an  environment  miserable  and  depressing  I  shall,  devoid  of 
hope,  end  my  cheerless  days  alone  and  forgotten.  If  I  were  a 
real  hero,  as  is  this  poor  fellow  who  is  struggling  for  health 
beside  me,  if  I  had  performed  some  of  the  brave  acts  many 
of  these  poor  soldiers  have  done,  who  are  now  awaiting  the-' 
knife  of  the  surgeon,  I  might  perhaps " 

"Stop,  I   beg  you,"  implored  my  fair  visitor;   "it  rends' 
my  heart  that  hideous  war  should  have  cut  you  down  in  the 
very  prime  of  your  manhood.  I  shall  take  a  keen  pleasure  in 
having  these  implements  of  destruction  placed  where  they 
can  no  longer  remind  you  and  the  world  in  general  that 


36  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

hateful  war  is  ever  ready  to  slay  the  bravest  fellows  the  na- 
tion produces." 

"I  heartily  indorse  every  word  you  say,"  I  replied,  with  in- 
tense feeling;  "how  many  dreams,  how  many  hopes,  how 
many  homes  and  lives  it  has  shattered  and  destroyed." 

At  this  moment  I  noticed  the  orderly  wheeling  a  sheeted 
figure  through  the  ward;  the  incident  had  not  escaped  her. 

"What  is  it  ?"  she  said  in  a  voice  that  vibrated  with  terror. 

"Oh,  nothing,"  I  replied  reassuringly,  "but  do  look  out  of 
the  window,  please,  until  I  tell  you  that  everything's  all 
right." 

The  white  figure  was  soon  wheeled  past  and  the  door 
closed  behind  it.  She  had  sensed  what  it  was,  and,  as  she 
placed  her  right  hand  upon  my  coverlet,  I  pressed  mine 
gently  upon  it.  There  was  silence  for  a  few  seconds,  and 
then,  in  a  cheery  tone  of  voice,  I  said: 

"Everything  is  all  right  now;  we  are  used  to  such  things; 
just  one  more  soldier  who  has  fought  his  last  battle.  His 
sufferings  are  over,  while  ours  must  still  be  borne.  The 
hardest  thing  we  have  to  bear  and  fight  is  the  terrible  loneli- 
ness. If  I  only  had  some  one  who  would  drop  in  and  see  me 
for  just  a  few  moments,  two  or  three  times  a  year,  at  Easter 
or  Christmas,  life  would  be  more  endurable.  But  friends 
move  away,  other  interests  claim  their  attention,  and  I  have 
found  alas !  that  one  does  not  dare  to  make  friends,  espe- 
cially those  who  remind  one  of  the  brighter,  happier  days, 
when  the  joy  of  living  and  the  joy  of  loving  made  earth  a 
paradise.  Sickness  may  cripple  the  body,  but  it  only  in- 
tensifies the  longing  and  yearning  of  the  heart  for  all  those 
tender,  beautiful  and  glorious  things  that  fate  has  denied 
to  those  who  are  permanent  members  of  the  brotherhood  of 
suffering.  Forgive  me,"  I  implored,  as  she  turned  her  head 
and  gazed  out  of  the  window,  raising  the  dainty  handker- 
chief that  rested  in  her  lap  to  her  eyes,  whose  liquid  depths 
of  sympathy  no  mortal  could  plumb;  "forgive  me;  it  was 
wrong  of  me  to  harrow  up  your  feelings  thus."  Suddenly 
she  turned  and  looked  squarely  into  my  eyes,  her  face  full 
of  animation  as  though  some  bright  and  happy  thought  had 
forever  banished  the  dark  clouds  of  gloom  and  despair  into 
which  my  pessimism  and  hopelessness  had  plunged  her. 

"Pray  banish  all  those  dark,  despairing  thoughts,"  she  ex- 
claimed. "You  are  going  to  get  well;  I  know  it;  I  feel  it; 
you  must  get  well;  get  well  for  my  sake,  and  as  soon  as 


'Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  '37 

you're  strong  enough  mother  and  I  will  come  around  with 
our  car  and  take  you  for  a  ride,  and  as  many  more  rides 
after  that  as  you  wish  to  have.  Now,  isn't  that  a  glorious 
prospect  ?" 

"Glorious,"  said  I,  almost  overcome  by  the  blissful  picture 
she  had  painted.  "It  overwhelms  me ;  the  very  thought  of  it 
is  a  glimpse  into  paradise."  And  then  I  dropped,  dropped 
down  to  the  cold,  cold  earth  again,  and  my  dream  was  o'er. 
The  dreams  of  what  might  be,  compared  to  the  things  that 
were,  the  things  that  had  to  be  and  could  not  be  altered. 

"Miss  Edgerton,"  said  I,  bracing  myself  for  the  effort,  "I 
have  been  guilty  of  a  gross  deception.  You  remember,  I 
told  you  I  was  no  hero,  and  I  certainly  am  not.  I  never  was 
in  the  United  States  army.  This  is  the  second  hospital  I 
have  been  in,  and  I  have  been  an  invalid  for  two  long  years, 
and  in  all  that  time  I  have  never  left  my  bed.  The  orderly, 
you  see,  thought  it  would  be  great  fun  to  put  a  flag  at  the 
head  of  my  bed  and  let  me  participate  in  the  honors  that 
the  public  is  lavishing  on  the  poor  fellows  who  have  survived 
at  least  so  far  the  government's  wicked  mismanagement  of 
this  typhoid  campaign.  Mauser  bullets  have  been  given  me 
by  a  number  of  soldiers,  for  I  have  been  in  every  section  of 
the  country  and  have  won  their  hearts, by  talking  to  them  of 
their  homes.  The  poor  fellow  in  the  next  bed  insisted  that 
I  should  come  into  'the  game,'  as  he  called  it,  and,  when  he 
told  you  that  preposterous  nonsense  about  my  martial  deeds 
in  Cuba,  I  begged  him  not  to  mention  such  things,  not  in 
your  presence  at  least;  but  he  is  an  incorrigible  joker,  and 
thought  probably  that  you  would  never  come  again.  But, 
after  all,  I  feel  that  you  will  forgive  me,  for,  when  I  saw 
you  enter  the  ward,  I  longed  with  a  longing  no  words  can  ex- 
press to  have  the  privilege  of  chatting  with  you  for  a  mo- 
ment or  two.  I  was  afraid — though  my  fear  was  a  poor 
compliment  to  your  intelligence  and  goodness  of  heart — to 
mention  that  I  had  no  right  to  receive  sympathy  from  you 
to  which  I  was  not  entitled.  But  you  will  never  know  how  a 
man  of  my  temperament  feels,  a  man  who  longs  for  the  so- 
ciety of  his  fellow  beings  when  he  sees  the  beds  of  other  pa- 
tients surrounded  on  visiting  days  by  a  host  of  friends,  sweet- 
hearts, mothers  and  wives,  all  lavishing  their  love  and  sym- 
pathy on  their  dear  ones,  and  not  a  soul  to  say  a  word  to  him 
or  give  him  a  nod  of  recognition.  I  have  watched  yonder 
entrance  to  this  ward  for  weeks  and  even  months  at  a  time, 


38  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  'Book 

watched  it  as  a  perishing  sailor  watches  for  a  friendly  sail, 
but  the  familiar  faces  I  longed  to  see  appeared  not,  and  then, 
as  the  bell  rang  for  the  visitors  to  depart,  my  heart  sank 
within  me.  The  friendly  sail,  you  see,  had  not  brightened  the 
horizon.  Nothing  but  grim  waters  loom  around  the  raft  of 
the  castaway,  waiting  to  engulf  him,  moaning,  ever  moaning 
the  requiem  that  is  to  mark  his  passing.  From  long  habit 
one  cannot  help  watching  that  door,  for  it  is  through  that 
door  that  must  come  any  light  that  is  to  brighten  one's  life.1 
It  was  that  door  I  was  watching,  from  force  of  habit,  when; 
you  appeared.  Fancy  a  Christmas  that  marks  not  the  com- 
ing of  a  friend,  a  day  like  so  many  hundreds  of  other  days, 
but  so  much  keener  the  sense  of  loneliness  on  that  occasion, 
when  all  humanity  is  kin,  and  you,  alone  and  deserted,  watch 
and  wait,  wait  and  watch,  until  your  eyelids  close,  too  tired 
to  keep  longer  vigil,  and  your  heart  sickens  from  the  very 
weariness  of  the  thing.  A  veteran  in  the  brotherhood  of 
suffering  soon  learns  to  dispense  with  sympathy,  and  he  de- 
spises pity,  but  you  cannot  conceive  the  agony  of  a  heart  that 
hungers  for  friendship,  interest,  cheer  and  companionship, 
and  hungers  in  vain.  To  live  without  the  handclasp  of  a 
friend  is  not  even  existence;  it  is  death  in  life.  Time,  whose 
rhythmic  beat  counts  off  the  hours  of  sickness  and  suffering, 
is  the  acid  test  of  friendship.  Once  friends  surrounded  my 
bed  and  banked  my  room  with  flowers,  but  the  world  soon 
gets  weary  of  those  who,  falling  by  the  wayside,  are  unable 
to  keep  step  with  the  happy,  joyous,  rapidly  moving  army  of 
the  healthy  and  strong,  which,  passing  quickly  onward, 
leaves  those  who  dropped  from  its  ranks  helpless  and  hope- 
less far  in  the  rear.  Here  am  I  marooned  on  a  tiny,  barren 
island  of  suffering  in  a  vast,  seething  sea  of  preoccupied  and 
indifferent  humans,  where  neither  the  green  leaves  of  sym- 
pathy nor  the  flowers  of  affection  ever  bloom,  and  where 
only  the  briars  and  thorns  of  sorrow  and  regret  grow  about 
one,  ready  to  rend  and  tear,  and  memory  is  one's  only 
friend." 

Miss  Edgerton  was  visibly  affected  by  my  lengthy  mono- 
logue, and  once  or  twice  she  was  on  the  point  of  interrupting 
me,  for  I  had  already  gauged  the  nobility  of  her  nature  and 
felt  confident  she  was  ready,  as  indeed  she  was,  not  only  to 
pardon  my  deception,  but  to  assure  me  of  her  eternal  friend- 
ship. 

"I  have  nothing  to  forgive,"  she  said,  with  a  smile  of  en- 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  39 

couragement ;  "I  am  only  too  delighted  to  think  that  you  were 
able  to  concoct  a  scheme  that  would  give  you  some  amuse- 
ment. If  you  think  I  have  been  victimized,  I  am  a  very 
happy  victim,  and,  so  far  from  eliminating  you  from  my  role 
of  heroes,  I  can  see  with  a  woman's  intuition  you  have  en- 
dured and  suffered  far  more  than  those  who  have  been  sus- 
tained by  the  excitement  of  the  battlefield  and  the  praise  and 
adulation  of  those  who  love  a  soldier  in  the  frenzy  of  war  and 
despise  and  shun  him  in  the  time  of  peace.  You  have  borne 
your  Gethsemane  alone.  You  have  spoken  of  friends  who 
forget,  but,  like  myself,  you  have  not  entirely  lost  faith  in 
humanity.  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  devote  my  life  to  set- 
tlement work,  and  I  want  you  to  help  me,  for,  though  others 
like  myself  may  theorize,  it  is  only  such  men  as  you  who 
know  the  things  of  which  we  can  merely  guess.  The  shadow 
of  the  cross  of  suffering  may  fall  across  our  pathway,  but 
we  have  never  endured  the  pangs  of  those  who  from  day  to 
day,  year  to  year,  are  stretched  and  tortured  upon  it.  So 
let  us  be  comrades  and  work  together." 

"God  bless  you,"  I  cried,  overcome  by  the  joy  of  it  all;  "I 
shall  be  ever  so  delighted  to  do  so." 

At  this  moment  I  noticed  her  eyes,  which  had  been  look- 
ing squarely  into  mine,  were  suddenly  fixed  upon  the  head 
of  my  bed,  and  the  flag  which  had  been  there  fluttered  down 
and  rested  upon  my  shoulder,  revealing  the  telltale  card, 
worn  with  age,  which  told  my  name  and  the  history  of  my 
case.  Miss  Edgerton's  eyes  in  an  instant  read  the  name, 
and  her  face  flushed  with  a  look  of  pleasure  and  delight. 

"Why,"  she  exclaimed,  "I  have  a  dear  little  song  of  yours 
at  home,  and  the  funniest  little  poem  imaginable,  that  I 
clipped  from  the  New  York  Herald.  I  pasted  it  in  my  scrap- 
book  only  the  other  day,  and  whoever  would  have  thought 
that  I  was  going  so  soon  to  meet  the  author  of  those  side- 
splitting verses  and  meet  him  in  such  gloomy  and  distressing 
surroundings.  Now  I  call  that  real  luck.  Oh !  if  you  only 
had  a  phone  by  your  bedside,  I  would  let  you  hear  me  sing 
your  song." 

"Miss  Edgerton,"  I  said,  my  face  ablaze  with  excitement 
and  happiness,  "in  the  language  of  the  classics,  I  am  just 
tickled  to  death  that  you  knew  of  me  at  least  before  we  met, 
for  is  there  anything  in  the  world  that  draws  one  closer,  or 
forms  a  finer  basis  for  friendship,  than  the  love  of  art  and 


40  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

song,  especially  when  we  trace  one  of  its  tiny  and  unimpor- 
tant rivulets  to  its  source." 

"Have  you  always  been  writing  for  a  living?"  she  asked 
eagerly. 

"No,"  said  I,  "I  am  sorry  I  have  not.  I  was  on  the  stage 
for  quite  a  while,  then  in  a  scientific  branch  of  the  govern- 
ment service,  but  I  would  weary  you  if  I  told  you  all,  and 
there  is  nothing  worth  the  telling,  anyway.  But,  though  I 
am  walled  up  in  this  gloomy  old  prison,  I  am  ever  dreaming 
dreams  that  are  to  me,  at  least,  glorious.  I  have  to  earn  my 
living,  and  I  have  found  to  my  joy  that  I  can  earn  it  with  my 
pen.  But  it's  been  a  dreadful  struggle  at  times.  I  am  de- 
termined to  win  out  all  the  same,  and,  if  I  can  only  keep  my 
head  one  inch  above  the  dark  waters  which  are  threatening 
at  all  times  to  engulf  me,  I  will  win  out.  Hitherto  I  have 
had  no  incentive  but  the  necessity  of  writing  for  bread  and 
butter.  Necessity  is  a  lash  that  urges  and  stings,  not  a 
blessed  light  shining  in  the  darkness  of  the  long,  lone  night, 
inspiring  one  with  hope  and  leading  one  onward  and  upward 
to  meet  the  dawning  of  a  brighter  day.  Necessity  has 
whipped  me  until  I  am  sore  of  body  and  sick  of  heart,  but 
if  I  can  only  write  something  more  that  you  will  think 
worthy  of  a  place  in  your  scrapbook,  and  you  will  be  gracious 
enough  to  now  and  then  drop  me  a  word  of  cheer  and  en- 
couragement, I  know  I  can  begin  life  all  over  again.  You 
won't  mind  being  my  light,  my  kindly  light,  and  leading  me 
on  just  a  little,  will  you  ?"  I  pleaded. 

"If  you  think  there  is  anything  luminous  about  my  humble 
self,  I  give  it  with  all  my  heart,"  and  she  held  out  both  her 
hands  with  the  enthusiasm  of  a  child,  and  I  imprisoned  and 
held  them  in  both  of  mine.  There  was  a  moment  of  silence, 
a  moment  worth  all  I  had  endured,  or  could  endure  for  aeons 
of  time. 

"Now,  we  are  going  to  work  together,"  she  said,  all  ani 
mation,  "and,  if  you  don't  do  something  great,  I  shall  feel 
that  it  is  my  fault  and  not  yours." 

"A  few  moments  ago  I  did  not  believe  there  was  even  the 
germ  of  mediocrity  in  me,  Miss  Edgerton,"  I  answered,  "but 
now  we  have  formed  this  delightful  partnership,  you  to  fur- 
nish the  inspiration,  and  each  to  help  in  the  work  of  the 
other,  I  feel  as  though  I  could  make  all  humanity  sit  up  and 
take  notice.  I  aspire  to  do  more  than  write  verse  and  songs. 
While  you  are  doing  ynyr  settlement  work  in  the  slums,  I 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  41 

want  to  be  driving  a  nail  in  the  coffin  of  the  horrid  thing  that 
makes  slums  possible." 

"That's  glorious,"  she  cried,  "glorious,"  as  she  prepared  to 
go.  "Now,  how  often  may  I  come  to  see  you;  I'd  like  to 
come  every  day,  though  I.  know  you'd  get  tired  of  me." 

I  tried  to  reply,  but  there  was  a  lump  in  my  throat  that 
made  speech  impossible ;  I  was  overcome  with  emotion,  and 
was  conscious  of  the  fact  that  there  was  something  obscur- 
ing my  vision.  The  coming  into  my  drab-gray  montonous 
life  of  this  beautiful  girl  seemed  entirely  too  good  to  be  true. 
It  was  so  unlike  everything  else  that  had  happened  in  the 
last  two  years — disappointment,  humiliation  and  sorrow — the 
loss  of  all  that  makes  life  worth  while,  that  I  could  hardly 
believe  I  was  not  the  sport  of  some  evil  power  that  was  al- 
lowing me  to  glimpse  heaven,  only  to  dash  me  hellward  later. 

"Oh,  won't  you  tell  me,  dear  friend,"  I  said,  gazing  stead- 
ily into  her  beautiful  face ;  "is  this  not  a  dream,  like  so  many 
other  dreams  I've  had,  that  come  only  to  mock  me  and  make 
my  cross  still  harder  to  bear?  Is  it  true,  and  not  some  cruel 
joke  ?"  She  knew  what  was  passing  in  my  mind. 

"This  is  no  dream,"  she  answered,  "and,  if  I  can  be  as 
much  in  your  life  as  you  will  be  in  mine,  I  shall  indeed  be  a 
happy  girl.  And  here  I  give  you  a  token  that  shall  ever  re- 
mind us  that  this  is  a  compact  of  eternal  friendship  that  no  one 
shall  ever  break.  We  have  consecrated  ourselves  to  a  noble 
work,  a  cause  divine  that  God  will  bless,"  and  her  voice 
quivered  with  emotion  as  she  tore  the  little  flag  in  two 
pieces,  pinned  half  of  it  to  her  breast,  and  gave  me  the  other 
half.  As  she  placed  it  in  my  hand  I  raised  it  to  my  lips. 

"I  shall  always  love  and  worship  that  flag,"  I  said,  "for, 
had  it  not  been  for  that  emblem  of  vanishing  liberty,  a  lib- 
erty that,  with  heaven's  help,  we  will  work  to  restore,  a 
memento  of  a  compact  sacred  and  precious,  I  should  never 
have  known  you." 

"And  I,"  said  my  fair  comrade  laughingly,  standing  o'er 
me  like  a  miniature  goddess  of  liberty,  radiant  and  beautiful, 
"if  it  had  not  been  for  this  flag,  I  should  never  have  known 
the  hero  of  the  Spanish  War." 

L'ENVOI 

Fifteen  years  have  passed  since  that  eventful  day,  when 
May  Edgertcn,  now  Mrs.  Sydney  Graham,  and  I  made  our 


42  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

memorable  compact.  May  still  holds  her  half  of  the  flag, 
and  I  hold  mine  and  ever  shall.  Through  the  darkest  years 
of  my  life  she  was  indeed  an  angel  of  mercy. 

When  the  clouds  gathered  around  me,  May  smiled,  and 
they  vanished.  Whenever  a  song  of  mine  was  sung  in  a 
theater,  it  was  she  who  went  to  hear  it,  and  came  back  with 
glistening  eyes  to  tell  me  the  result.  We  studied  human  af- 
fairs and  social  conditions  from  every  angle,  and  planned  to 
lift  the  cross  from  those  least  able  to  bear  it.  Our  ideas  and 
ideals  were  identical.  The  walls  of  her  room  were  covered 
with  the  pictures  I  drew  for  her,  and  we  were  ever  com- 
rades— the  best  chums  in  the  world,  and  still  are.  Her  home 
now  claims  her  attention,  and  I  am  no  longer,  as  I  was  in 
those  grim  days,  the  football  of  fate,  with  none  but  she  to 
soothe  and  cheer,  to  encourage  and  inspire.  As  my  work 
grew  and  prospered,  I  made  less  demands  on  her  time,  and 
her  visits  now  are  purely  social  ones.  Her  husband  is  the 
finest  fellow  in  the  world;  he  had  to  be,  or  I  would  not  have 
approved  of  him  or  recommended  him,  and  he  knows  to-day, 
if  I  had  only  recovered  from  my  invalidism,  he  never  would 
have  had  a  ghost  of  a  chance  of  winning  May  from — The 
Hero  of  the  Spanish  War. 


It  was  a  lovely  day  in  June  when  I  first  began  to  bloom  in 
all  my  perfection  and  loveliness  in  a  grand  old  garden  in 
England.  Several  roses  were  growing  on  the  same  tree  as 
I,  but  I  am  fain  to  believe  I  must  have  been  more  beautiful 
than  they,  for  one  day  a  youth  and  maiden  approached 
and  plucked  me.  His  face  was  glowing  with  excitement, 
while  hers  seemed  cold  and  passive,  and  scarcely  a  feature 
relaxed  as  he  said — "Here,  dearest,  take  this  glorious  rose 
and  wear  it  as  a  token  of  my  undying  love  and  devotion ;  the 
queen  of  flowers  for  the  queen  of  women,"  and  with  these 
words  he  placed  me  in  her  corsage,  and  pressed  me  to  his 
lips  as  he  did  so. 

I,  of  course,  began  at  once  to  take  an  intense  interest  in 
my  new  surroundings — my  position  giving  me  an  opportunity 
to  see  and  hear  all  that  transpired. 

"Maude,  dearest,  are  you  sure  you  love  me ;  oh,  tell  me  you 
really  and  truly  do;  once  again  tell  me,  sweetheart,"  he  im- 
plored, as  he  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  nearly  crushed  me 
with  the  vehemence  of  his  embrace. 

She  replied  "yes"  to  his  passionate  entreaty,  but  from  her 
cold,  unresponsive  manner  I  hardly  thought  she  meant  it.  In 
a  little  while  he  took  his  leave,  and  my  mistress  and  I  were 
alone. 

"Poor  Jack — poor  boy,"  she  said,  as  his  manly  form  faded 
in  the  distance,  "and  you,  little  rosy,  are  to  be  the  pledge  of 
/our  mutual  love — what  a  sentimental  boy  he  is.  I  haven't  the 
courage  to  tell  him  my  heart  is  already  another's,  and  now  I 
fear  a  harmless  flirtation  will  end  in  a  tragedy  and  I  shall 
have  to  break  his  heart  before  I  can  get  rid  of  him.  Heigh- 
ho,  what  a  world  this  is,  the  people  we  don't  love  love  us, 
and  those  we  do  love,  as  a  rule,  love  somebody  else." 

"Ah!  here  comes  Captain  D'Arcy,"  she  said,  moving 
swiftly  down  the  garden  path  toward  a  tall,  handsome,  mili- 
tary-looking man  who  was  approaching  us.  In  another  sec- 
ond she  was  in  his  arms. 

43 


44  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

"Who  gave  you  that  lovely  rose,  Maude  ?"  said  the  Captain 
languidly. 

"Oh,  that  silly  boy,  Jack  Lansdale,  I  promised  to  keep  it 
forever  as  a  token  of  my  undying  love  for  him,"  and  she 
laughed  merrily. 

"And  of  course  you  are  going  to  do  it?"  queried  the  Cap- 
tain. 

"Certainly  I  am,  watch  me,"  and  without  further  ado  she 
drew  me  forth  from  her  bosom,  pressed  me  to  her  lips  and 
transferred  me  to  the  Captain's  coat. 

"There,  Roy,  dear,  my  undying  love  for  Jack  is  now  a 
token  of  my  undying  love  for  you.  Oh,  Roy,  swear  you 
will  never  be  as  heartless  as  I,  and  oh,  keep  this  precious 
little  flower  for  my  sake,"  she  pleaded;  "keep  it,  ah,  keep  it, 
won't  you?" 

"Keep  it,"  replied  the  Captain;  "of  course  I  will,  sweet- 
heart. I  will  treasure  it  as  long  as  life  lasts,  and  herewith  I 
seal  the  compact  with  a  kiss." 

Ah  me,  but  one  short  half  hour  of  my  life  and  I  had 
changed  hands  three  times. 

Soon  the  Captain  took  his  leave,  and,  passing  into  the 
street,  hailed  a  hansom  cab. 

"Thirty-three  Belgrave  Square,  quick,"  he  said  to  the 
driver. 

"All  right,  sir,"  answered  the  man,  touching  his  cap ;  "the 
'oss  is  a  good  un,  an'  we'll  be  there  in  a  few  minutes." 

Now  it  was  the  turn  of  the  Captain  and  I  to  be  alone;  he 
lit  a  cigarette  and  began  thinking  aloud. 

"What  a  silly  little  silly  Maudie  is,  sentimental  little  stu- 
pid, still  she  has  heaps  of  money,  and  money  I  must  have, 
and  her  whims  must  be  humored.  Now,  if  Madge  had  only 
given  me  that  rose — the  darling,  I  would  have  carried  it  on 
my  heart  forever;  but  she's  married,  and  her  husband 
watches  her  like  a  hawk — hang  him" — and  the  Captain  ac- 
centuated his  remark  by  snatching  at  one  of  my  petals  and 
crushing  it  with  his  heel. 

Soon  with  a  rattle  and  a  bang  we  drew  up  at  a  grand  man- 
sion. "  'Ere  you  are,  sir,"  said  the  driver. 

The  door  of  the  great  mansion  opened,  and  soon  the  Cap- 
tain was  bending  over  a  beautiful  woman. 

"Where  did  you  get  the  rose?"  she  asked,  after  their  first 
rapt  embrace  was  over. 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  45 

"I  stopped  at  the  florist's  and  bought  it  especially  for  you," 
he  replied. 

"Are  you  sure,  Roy,  Maude  Fairfax  did  not  give  it  to 
you?"  she  queried — a  tone  of  jealousy  in  her  voice. 

"Maude — oh,  no,"  he  replied,  though  only  half  an  hour  be- 
fore she  had  been  in  his  arms.  "Madge,  as  you  know,  I 
have  but  one  woman  in  my  heart  and  mind,  and  that,  dearest, 
is  you." 

It  was  growing  late,  and  Madge  was  dressed  for  dinner.  I 
had  never  seen  anyone  so  beautiful  as  she,  and  when  the 
Captain  took  me  from  his  coat  and  placed  me  in  her  corsage 
I  fairly  thrilled  with  joy. 

"Darling,"  he  murmured  passionately,  "swear  you  will 
never  part  with  this  little  flower;  keep  it  and  treasure  it  for 
my  sake,  as  a  token  of  the  love  I  bear  you,  and  if  I  never 
return  from  the  campaign  in  India,  where  my  regiment  is 
soon  going,  let  its  dead  leaves  remind  you  of  one  who  loved 
you  with  all  his  heart  and  soul." 

"Roy — dearest — I  swear  it,"  she  replied,  and  was  about  to 
return  his  kiss  when  we  were  all  startled  by  the  appearance 
of  a  third  person — the  white  bosom  on  which  I  reclined 
heaved  violently;  the  Captain's  face  turned  deathly  pale. 

"So,  Captain  D'Arcy,"  said  the  stranger,  who  had  ap- 
peared so  suddenly,  "I  now  know  what  I  have  long  sus- 
pected; you,  my  comrade  in  arms,  the  man  I  have  befriended, 
have  robbed  me  of  the  only  thing  on  earth  that  was  precious 
to  me — the  love  of  my  wife. 

"I  have  a  mind  to  kill  you  both,  and  I  fully  intended  to  do 
so,  and  have  come  armed  for  that  purpose ;  but  I  would  not 
stain  my  hands  with  the  blood  of  such  a  cur  as  you. 
You  have  murdered  my  happiness,  and  I  shall  now  consider 
it  a  favor  if  you  will  finish  your  devilish  work  and  take 
this  revolver  and  put  a  bullet  through  the  heart  you've  al- 
ready broken." 

There  was  a  terrible  silence  for  a  few  seconds,  and  then 
the  fair  bosom  on  which  I  lay  grew  deathly  cold,  and  my 
fair  wearer,  with  a  cry  of  anguish,  sank  in  a  swoon  on  the 
floor. 

"Go,"  said  the  husband  to  the  Captain,  "and  may  the 
memory  of  the  lives  you  have  blasted  haunt  you  to  your  dy- 
ing day." 

How  my  heart  bled  for  that  poor,  wretched  man  as  he 


46  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

stood  gazing  as  one  in  a  dream  at  the  prostrate  form  of  his 
wife  on  whose  bosom  I  reclined. 

"Poor,  weak  fool,"  he  said,  "oh,  why  did  you  let  that 
wretch  come  between  us?"  and  he  sank  in  a  chair  and  hid 
his  head  in  his  hands,  while  his  whole  frame  shook  with  emo- 
tion. 

Suddenly  he  arose  and  came  swiftly  to  her,  and  plucked 
me  from  her  bosom — his  face  quivering  with  passion — "The 
rose  that  devil  gave  her — the  token  of  his  love — curse  him ! 
curse  him ! !  curse  him ! !"  he  shouted,  as  with  all  his  might 
he  dashed  me  through  the  open  window  to  the  sidewalk  be- 
low. 

I  had  lain  there  but  a  few  moments,  utterly  dumfounded  by 
my  experience  of  a  few  short  hours  of  life  in  high  society — 
when  a  foot  gave  me  a  vicious  kick  into  the  gutter — it  was 
the  Captain  who  had  just  passed  from  the  house  who  had 
kicked  me — I  recognized  him  and  he  evidently  recognized 
me.  "Damn  the  rose,"  he  said,  as  he  strode  past — and  could 
I  have  polluted  myself  sufficiently  to  have  used  foul  lan- 
guage I  think  I  would  have  returned  the  Captain's  oaths  with 
interest  and  damned  him,  too,  for  the  wretch  he  was.  But 
before  I  had  time  for  further  reflections  I  was  seized  by  a 
poor,  ragged  little  urchin  of  about  twelve  years  of  age.  As 
he  picked  me  up  he  gave  a  cry  of  joy  and  delight. 

"I  told  mother  I'd  get  a  rose  for  Billie  even  if  I  had  to 
steal  one,"  the  thin  lips  rattled  on — "and  oh,  ain't  this  a 
beauty,  some  'toff'  (swell)  or  other  has  chucked  it  away. 
Poor  little  Billie,  you  shall  have  yer  rose,  after  all" — and, 
clasping  me  tightly  in  his  thin,  dirty  little  hands,  he  ran  as 
fast  as  his  bare  feet  and  ragged  limbs  would  carry  him, 
through  narrow  streets  and  winding  alleys  till  we  entered  a 
low  ceilinged,  pitifully  poor  and  bare  room  on  the  second 
floor  of  a  tenement.  In  the  corner  of  the  room,  on  an  apol- 
ogy for  a  bed,  lay  the  dead  body  of  a  child — by  the  side  of  the 
bed  sat  a  worn  and  tired  pale-faced  little  woman,  evidently 
the  mother,  keeping  her  vigil  by  the  bed  of  death. 

"Mother,  I've  got  it,"  said  the  urchin,  holding  me  up  for 
his  mother  to  see — her  eyes  were  red  with  weeping,  but  a 
smile  broke  through  the  tears  as  she  looked  at  me. 

This  was  my  first  appearance  in  the  lower  strata  of  society, 
and  I  felt  if  God  had  created  the  roses  for  anything  it  was 
not  to  adorn  and  be  the  toy  of  the  pampered  darlings  of  the 
smart  set,  but  to  brighten  the  lives  of  the  poor,  the  sick  and 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  47 

the  lowly,  and  ah,  I  tried  to  look  my  loveliest  as  the  little 
urchin  pressed  me  to  the  cold,  pale  brow  of  his  dead  brother, 
and  then  reverently  upon  the  still  breast  of  the  poor  child. 

"Billie,"  he  said,  "I  wish  you  could  see  this,  Billie — it's  a 
rose — and  it's  all  yours,  Billie.  Oh,  mother,  do  you  think 
Billie  knows  I  got  it  for  him  ?" 

"Yes,  Jimmie,  dear,"  replied  the  little  mother,  "the  angel? 
are  kind  and  good,  and  they  will  tell  him  all  about  it." 

"Why  did  Billie  die,  mother?" 

"God  wanted  him,  dear,  I  suppose." 

"Well,  so  did  we,  and  God  didn't  want  him  half  as  much 
as  we  did,  and  I  think  it's  mighty  hard  He  couldn't  let  him 
stay. 

"Where  will  they  bury  him,  mother?" 

"In  a  pauper's  grave,  Jim,  and  they'll  soon  be  here  to  fetch 
him" — and  the  words  were  scarcely  out  of  her  mouth  ere  the 
Parish  undertakers  entered  the  room,  carrying  a  long,  plain 
box. 

One,  a  particularly  coarse  and  callous  brute,  approached 
the  bedside,  and,  calling  to  his  mate,  said : 

"Say,  Bob,  blowed  if  this  don't  beat  all,  flowers  on  a  bloom- 
ing pauper,"  and  with  that  he  swung  his  hand  viciously  and 
knocked  me  from  the  dead  boy's  breast  to  the  floor. 

Little  Jim  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  picked  me  up  with 
his  left  hand,  and  with  his  right  he  snatched  a  long,  keen 
knife  lying  on  the  table. 

His  face  was  livid  with  rage,  the  insult  to  his  beloved 
dead  had  filled  the  lad  with  the  strength  of  a  demon,  and  the 
weakling  of  a  moment  before,  inflated  with  a  sense  of  cruel 
wrong,  seemed  to  rise  from  the  ground  and  tower  like  a 
giant. 

He  replaced  me  on  his  brother's  breast,  and  with  a  voice 
quivering  with  passion  said,  "Touch  that  rose  again  and  I'll 
kill  you." 

"Well,  look  at  the  little  spitfire,"  said  the  brute — "if  that 
don't  beat  all,"  but  he  evidently  thought  it  best  not  to  dis- 
turb me  again. 

They  lifted  the  little  frail  body  into  its  resting  place,  and 
Jimmie  and  his  mother  took  one  last  long  look  at  us 

"Good-by,  Billie,"  said  Jimmie,  as  he  kissed  the  cold, 
white  forehead  again  and  again.  "Good-by,  Billie,  good-by; 
you're  better  off — mother  says  so — and  mother  knows.  No 
more  kicks  and  cuffs,  no  more  policemen  and  coppers  a-mov- 


48  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

ing  yer  on,  no  more  crossin's  to  sweep,  no  more  weepin', 
rainy  skies  an'  muddy  streets,  an'  hunger  and  misery.  All 
sunshine,  all  happiness  where  you  are  going,  and  God'll  be 
good  to  yer,  Billie ;  He  always  is,  Billie ;  mother  says  so,  and 
mother  knows,  and  we're  both  coming  soon,  Billie;  we  won't 
be  long ;  good-by,  good-by." 

And  with  Billie's  salt  tears  dropping  on  my  petals,  the  lid 
of  the  rude  pine  box  closed  over  us,  and  I  took  my  farewell 
of  the  world,  and  will  now  take  my  farewell  of  you. 

And  such  is  the  story  of  the  rose,  and  may  we  not  feel 
assured  that,  when  the  angels  meet  little  Billie  at  the  gates  of 
Paradise,  Billie  will  still  be  pressing  to  his  bosom  the  beauti- 
ful rose  which  Jimmie  placed  there  as  a  token  of  that  love 
which  is  indeed  undying  and  lasts  on  beyond  the  grave  for- 
ever and  ever? 


THE  GHOSTS  OF  THE  MISSISSIPPI 

(The  story  narrated  by  the  pilot  is  one  of  actual  facts,  the 
author  having  merely  tried  to  record  the  various  incidents 
as  they  fell  from  the  lips  of  one  who  participated  in  one  of 
the  many  grim  tragedies  enacted  on  the  turbid  bosom  of  the 
great  Father  of  Waters.) 

It  was  in  the  fall  of  the  year  1888  that  I  was  a  passenger 
on  board  the  Mississippi  steamer,  Annie  P.  Silver,  which  in 
those  days  plied  between  St.  Louis  and  New  Orleans. 

I  was  a  member  of  a  traveling  theatrical  company,  and  this 
was  my  first  tour  of  the  West,  and  my  first  trip  on  the 
mighty  Mississippi. 

We  had  played  in  Cairo,  Illinois,  closing  there  on  the  Sat- 
urday night,  and  now  were  on  our  way  to  open  in  Memphis, 
Tennessee,  for  a  week's  engagement  on  the  following  Mon- 
day evening. 

Those  who  have  done  little  traveling,  and  especially  those 
who  live  far  from  and  have  never  seen  any  of  our  big  water- 
ways, can  form  but  a  very  inadequate  idea  of  this  stupendous 
stream,  nor  can  they  realize  the  strange  effect  it  has  on  those 
who  view  it  for  the  first  time. 

I  had  scarcely  recovered  from  the  first  impressions  of  won- 
derment and  awe  before  I  found  myself  standing  on  the 
lower  deck  of  the  huge  phantom-like  steamer,  surrounded 
by  perspiring  negroes  who  were  crooning  snatches  of  song, 
quaint  melodies  peculiar  to  their  race,  as  they  busily  stowed 
away  countless  bales  of  cotton  consigned  to  New  Orleans 
and  the  markets  of  the  old  world. 

We  had  a  two  days'  journey  in  front  of  us,  the  first  half  of 
which  I  improved  by  making  friends  with  the  chief  officers 
of  the  boat.  This  soon  was  followed  by  an  invitation  to  the 
pilot  house,  a  favor  rarely  granted  to  passengers,  the  law  bar- 
ring any  but  officials  from  entering  this  secluded  eyrie  from 
which  the  movements  of  the  boat  are  directed. 

The  majority  of  people  have  a  fairly  accurate  idea  of  the 
construction  of  the  Mississippi  River  steamers  of  a  quarter  of 

49 


50  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  "Book 

a  century  ago,  for  the  present-day  vessels  differ  but  little 
from  those  of  a  past  generation.  It  will,  however,  help  the 
reader  to  better  understand  the  events  I  am  about  to  narrate, 
to  briefly  explain  the  construction  of  these  peculiarly  Amer- 
ican craft. 

The  ordinary  steamers  which  ply  upon  the  breast  of  the 
tortuous  Mississippi  have  three  decks — boiler,  cabin  and  hur- 
ricane. On  the  hurricane,  or  topmost  deck,  are  two  cabins  or 
deck  houses,  built  one  above  the  other.  The  bottom  cabin  is 
called  the  Texas,  and  here  the  officers  of  the  boat  have  their 
quarters.  On  the  roof  of  this  structure,  about  one-fourth  its 
size  and  nearest  to  the  prow  of  the  boat,  is  the  pilot  house, 
which  is  reached  by  two  flights  of  steps.  From  this  struc- 
ture, perched  away  on  top  of  the  vessel,  the  pilot  can  com- 
mand an  excellent  view  of  the  river,  and  here,  wheel  in  hand, 
he  directs  the  course  of  his  boat,  through  treacherous  shoal 
and  past  huge  threatening  snags,  trunks  of  submerged  trees, 
embedded  far  in  the  mud,  below  the  water's  surface,  and 
capable  of  piercing  the  hull  of  a  river  steamer  with  as  much 
ease  as  one  would  pass  a  pencil  through  a  sheet  of  tissue 
paper. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  of  the  second  day  before  I 
availed  myself  of  the  pilot's  kind  invitation  to  visit  his  lone- 
some nest,  but  at  last  I  lit  a  cigar  and  sought  him  out. 

There  was  very  little  light,  except  such  as  was  afforded 
by  the  few  stars  which  revealed  themselves  at  intervals  be- 
tween the  somber  clouds,  plentifully  banked  across  the  vast 
arch  of  the  heavens,  and  from  whose  sable  bosoms  flashes  of 
lightning  occasionally  darted.  It  was  an  impressive  sight,  the 
broad,  majestic  stream,  resembling  more  an  arm  of  the  ocean 
than  a  river,  with  its  huge  bluffs  towering  on  either  side, 
mantled  o'er  with  seemingly  impenetrable  forests  of  cotton- 
wood,  whose  inky  blackness  stood  out  in  strong  relief  against 
the  pall-like  canopy  of  clouds,  the  massed  density  of  which 
added  to  the  all-pervading  gloom. 

The  ghostly  Captain  Vanderdecken,  whose  phantom  ship, 
"The  Flying  Dutchman,"  is  forever  doomed  to  battle  with  the 
tempestuous  waves,  in  its  vain  attempts  to  round  the  Cape 
of  Good  Hope — the  towering  promontory  which  stands  sen- 
tinel at  the  southernmost  end  of  the  African  continent — 
could  not  have  desired  the  command  of  a  more  spectral  craft 
than  the  one  on  whose  upper  deck  I  stood,  and  which,  white 
as  a  bfftlal  veil  and  seemingly  as  intangible  and  translucent, 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  51 

was  silhouetted  against  the  pitchlike  walls  of  bluff  and  forest 
which  bulked  large  on  either  side  like  Stygian  battlements 
guarding  the  entrance  to  some  grim  and  forbidding  world, 
past  the  confines  of  which  we  crept  noiselessly  as  we  dropped 
down  the  mysterious  waterway,  placidly  rolling,  ever  rolling 
to  its  bourne  in  the  distant  deeps,  there  to  blend  with  the 
murmuring  tides  of  the  ever-restless  ocean. 

The  pilot  welcomed  me  cordially,  apologized  for  the  ab- 
sence of  any  artificial  light  which  would  interfere  with  his 
steering,  and  pointed  me  to  a  seat. 

The  pilot  was  a  fine-looking  man,  just  entering  the  six- 
ties. Forty-five  years  of  his  active  life  had  been  spent  in 
the  valley  of  the  Mississippi,  beyond  which  region  he  had 
never  wandered,  and  outside  of  which  he  had  practically  no 
interest.  The  Mississippi  was  his  home,  and  he  loved  the 
mighty  stream  as  a  mother  loves  her  first  born.  It  may 
seem  incredible,  but  there  was  not  a  snag  or  a  shoal  in  the 
bed  of  that  seemingly  endless  stream  that  the  pilot  did  not 
know,  and  this  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  navigated  some 
two  thousand  miles  of  river. 

"Pilot,"  said  I,  at  last  breaking  the  silence,  "you  must 
have  seen  some  pretty  exciting  times  in  your  forty-five  years 
of  voyaging  up  and  down  here." 

"Yes,"  said  the  pilot,  quietly  puffing  at  his  pipe,  "I  guess 
I  have.  What  I  ain't  seen  on  the  Mississipp  don't  amount 
to  much  and  ain't  worth  talking  about.  I  know  this  old 
river  from  A  to  Z,  like  a  kid  knows  its  alphabet,  and  I  guess 
there  ain't  a  tree  or  a  bluff  from  St.  Louis  to  New  Orleans 
that  don't  know  me,  and  I  guess,  if  they  could  talk,  they'd 
be  saying  to  themselves:  'Here  comes  old  Jim  Lynch  in  that 
old  white  tub  of  his,  one  eye  on  snags,  t'other  on  shoals/ 
Some  day  they'll  miss  me,  I  guess;  but  they  won't  miss  me 
half  as  much  as  I'll  miss  them.  Why,  stranger,  every  mile 
of  this  old  river  has  its  recollections  of  some  event;  every 
bluff,  bend  and  shoal  brings  back  memories  of  the  past — of  a 
race,  explosion  or  wreck — and  if  I  was  at  all  inclined  to  be 
superstitious,  and  believe  in  spooks  and  'hants,'  as  the  col- 
ored folks  say,  I  could  indulge  my  fancy  here  pretty  freely, 
you  can  bet.  Why,  right  here  at  this  very  Island  Number 
Ten  that  we're  passing  now  the  Stonewall  Jackson  blew  up 
during  the  war,  and  over  seven  hundred  men  cashed  in  their 
checks  in  a  hurry  and  took  a  swift  passage  for  kingdom  come. 
They  do  say  ghosts  about  here  are  as  thick  as  boobs  around 


52  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

a  ballot  box,  but  I  don't  trouble  much  about  outside  spooks 
when  we've  got  a  real  genuine  one  of  our  own  right  here  on 
this  boat." 

"A  ghost  on  the  boat,"  I  exclaimed,  surprised  and  not  a 
little  startled.  "Why,  it  was  just  now  you  said  you  didn't 
believe  in  the  fantastic  fraternity  of  spectral  spooks." 

"Well,  neither  do  I,  in  a  general  way,"  replied  the  pilot  in 
a  tone  half-explanatory,  half-apologetic ;  "and  maybe  it's  only 
the  memory  of  a  certain  terrible  night  and  the  effect  it  has 
had  on  my  mind  that  makes  me  believe  in  it  now.  But  I  tell 
you  right  here — and  I  ain't  a  man  that's  in  the  habit  of  going 
on  record  about  a  thing  until  I've  studied  it  with  my  own 
eyes  and  know  it  to  be  true — if  the  ghost  of  Daniel  Blake 
don't  haunt  this  boat,  my  name  ain't  Jim  Lynch  and  this  ain't 
the  Mississippi  And  here  the  pilot,  his  watchful  eyes  peer- 
ing into  the  gloom  of  the  night,  tugged  sharply  at  his  huge 
wheel  and  sent  the  spokes  flying  from  under  his  feet  in  a 
determined  manner  that  seemed  to  add  an  emphasis  to  his 
words,  and  an  additional  importance  to  his  statement  con- 
cerning the  ghost  theory,  which  apparently  completely  ob- 
sessed him. 

Just  then  a  flash  of  lightning  shot  across  the  heavens,  re- 
vealing by  its  dazzling  light  a  weird,  uncanny  look  which 
had  stolen  into  the  pilot's  strangely  agitated  face.  That  look 
left  no  doubt  in  my  mind  that  the  pilot  was  in  dead  earnest. 

"I  ain't  the  only  one  that  has  seen  it,"  he  resumed,  turning 
his  head  for  the  fraction  of  a  second  and  casting  a  wary 
glance  over  his  shoulder  in  the  direction  of  the  hurricane 
deck,  an  action  which  I  at  once  involuntarily  repeated. 
"Why,  three  of  our  black  cooks  have  quit  on  account  of  this 
boat  being  haunted,  and  even  the  skipper  before  Captain 
Ketner  gave  up  his  command  on  the  same  account."  I  found 
on  inquiry  this  was  perfectly  correct,  as  is  every  other  in- 
cident connected  with  this  narrative. 

"Well,  Pilot,"  said  I,  assuming  as  cheerful  a  tone  as  pos- 
sible under  the  circumstances,  a  cheerfulness,  I  am  bound 
to  admit,  I  did  not  exactly  feel,  "would  you  mind  telling  me 
how  it  is  that  Daniel  Blake  sees  fit  to  honor  this  vessel  with 
his  ghostly  presence  in  preference  to  that  of  other  steamers." 

"Well,  my  friend,"  said  the  pilot,  clearing  his  throat,  much 
as  a  sailor  clears  his  ship  for  action,  "it's  a  long  story  and 
a  painful  one,  and  I'd  rather  forget  it  than  talk  about  it,  but 
I  can't  banish  the  blamed  thing  from  my  thoughts,  and  never 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  53 

shall  be  able  to  while  I'm  on  this  boat  and  in  these  waters; 
but,  as  I  have  aroused  your  curiosity,  it's  only  common 
politeness  that  I  should  satisfy  it." 

"That  is  fair  reasoning,"  said  I,  "and,  believe  me,  you 
have  an  attentive  audience." 

"It  was  in  the  fall  of  1882,"  began  the  pilot,  shooting  a 
furtive  glance  in  my  direction  as  often  as  his  onerous  duties 
would  permit,  "that  we  were  on  a  voyage  from  St.  Louis  to 
New  Orleans.  We  had  touched  at  Cairo,  taking  on  pas- 
sengers and  freight,  and  were  heading  down  the  stream  for 
Memphis,  230  miles  distant.  It  was  a  beautiful  moonlight 
night,  and  Captain  Silver,  our  skipper,  and  Daniel  Blake, 
the  purser,  had  come  up  to  have  a  smoke  and  a  chat  before 
turning  in,  it  wanting  little  less  than  an  hour  to  midnight. 

"We  had  not  been  chatting  long  before  the  boy  who  looks 
after  our  quarters,  the  Texas  tender,  as  we  call  him,  told 
Daniel  Blake  that  he  was  wanted  down  on  the  boiler  deck. 
Dan  at  once  got  up  and  hoofed  it  down  below. 

"When  he  hit  the  lower  deck,  which  is  only  occupied  by 
those  who  are  unable  to  buy  a  passage  entitling  them  to 
sleeping  quarters,  and  thus  have  to  make  shift  the  best  they 
can,  snoozing  on  a  cotton  bale  or  a  box  of  hardware,  he 
found  the  party  who  had  sent  for  him  was  a  man  by  the 
name  of  Jack  Longley.  Jack  was  a  wild  sort  of  character. 
No  one  ever  saw  him  work.  Still,  he  always  had  a  com- 
fortable sized  wad,  though  where  Jack  dug  up  the  dough 
he  used  to  tote  around  nobody  knew,  and  I  guess  it  wouldn't 
have  paid  anybody  to  have  started  investigating,  as  Jack  had 
the  reputation  of  being  one  of  the  slickest  gamblers  that 
ever  stacked  a  deck  of  cards  or  drew  an  extra  ace  from  a 
convenient  sleeve;  and,  if  any  galoot  didn't  like  Jack's  way 
of  handling  the  cards,  he  used  to  invite  him  to  look  into 
the  muzzle  of  as  handsome  a  six  shooter  as  you  ever  clapped 
your  headlights  on. 

"Something,  however,  was  wrong  with  Jack  Longley  this 
time,  for  he  was  not  the  man  that  herded  with  niggers,  nor 
was  he  ever  satisfied  to  make  a  bed  of  a  hardware  box  or 
a  pillow  of  a  keg  of  nails,  as  he  was  doing  at  the  time  Dan 
Blake  hove  in  sight.  It  was  evident  Jack  Longley  had  been 
up  against  the  game  and  for  once  in  his  life  had  come  off 
second  best,  for  he  was  sick  as  a  dog  and  was  shaking  so 
with  chills  and  fever  that  even  the  smokestack  seemed  to 
rattle. 


54  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

"The  purser  sized  Jack  up  and  said :  'Hello,  pard.  What's 
the  matter  ?' 

"  'Sicker'n  the  devil,'  jerked  back  Longley,  and  Dan  didn't 
need  to  call  in  no  doctor  to  prove  that  Longley  wasn't  try- 
ing to  put  any  bluff  over  on  him.  'Been  on  a  week's  drunk, 
am  dead  broke  and  nigh  crazy  with  malaria,  and  I  guess  I 
ain't  far  from  having  a  touch  of  the  D.  T.'s.  Say,  Dan,  give 
us  a  berth  and  a  drink,  and  I'll  make  it  right  with  you 
later  on.' 

"Dan,  who  was  a  good-hearted  soul,  at  once  got  busy,  so 
it  seems,  and  helped  the  sick  man,  who  was  almost  too  weak 
to  stand,  to  stateroom  27,  just  aft  the  gangway,  near  the 
deck  staircase,  gave  him  a  good  stiff  drink  of  whiskey,  and 
left  him  all  snug  for  the  night. 

"When  Dan  got  through  playing  nurse  he  returned  to  his 
old  seat  on  the  right-hand  corner  of  the  bench,  where  you 
are  sitting  now,  just  by  the  door. 

"As  we  sat  there,  all  comfortable  like,  smoking  and  never 
dreaming  of  trouble,  little  did  we  think  that  hell  itself  was 
soon  going  to  burst  like  a  dozen  fierce  cyclones  rampaging 
along  on  a  wild  mission  of  death.  Well,  a  feller  never  knows 
just  what  kind  of  a  layout  he  is  going  to  stack  up  against  in 
this  old  world.  Whiskey  and  cigars  one  minute  and  bullets 
and  a  pine  box  the  next.  That's  life,  which  is  only  a  sort 
of  hold-off  name  for  death,  anyhow.  Sailing  downstream 
with  thirty  feet  of  good  black  water  under  your  keel,  and 
'fore  you  can  shift  your  plug  from  one  cheek  to  the  other  it's 
snag  and  sand  bar,  a  twelve-foot  hole  punched  in  the  bottom 
of  the  boat,  and  six  feet  of  water  in  the  hold.  Fate  certainly 
does  play  the  game  mighty  queer,  and  you  never  know  what 
kind  of  a  deal  you  are  going  to  get  until  you've  got  the 
cards  in  your  hand. 

"Well,  no  sooner  had  Dan  Blake's  fever-stricken  friend 
been  left  to  himself  than  he  went  clean  off  his  base.  Got 
seeing  pink-tailed  monkeys  and  all  them  kind  of  things  from 
green  rats  to  blue  snakes.  Say,  he  got  as  crazy  as  a  bull 
that's  run  his  nose  into  a  red  flannel  factory.  The  sick  man, 
too  weak  to  stand,  with  his  teeth  rattling  like  dice  in  a  box, 
in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  developed  into  a  maniac  with  the 
strength  of  a  dozen  demons. 

"Jack  Longley  was  a  man  of  medium  height,  middle  age, 
thickly  set,  and,  judging  by  the  scars  which  decorated  his 
face,  I  should  guess  he  hadn't  gone  around  the  world  without 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  55 

finding  plenty  of  folks  to  argue  with.  It  appeared  to  me 
he'd  had  a  disagreement  some  time  of  his  life  with  a  razor 
factory,  and  the  way  his  face  was  laid  out,  like  lots  on  a 
townsite  or  squares  on  a  checker  board,  I  reckon  the  razor 
factory  had  the  best  of  the  argument. 

"Longley,  with  hardly  a  rag  on  his  back,  now  a  raving 
madman,  had  got  out  of  his  berth  and  dug  a  six  shooter 
from  a  satchel  he  carried,  and  then  cautiously  opened  the 
door  of  his  stateroom  without  any  of  the  crew  seeing  him, 
and  crept  unnoticed  up  the  narrow  gangway  on  the  hurri- 
cane deck. 

"The  Texas  tender  was  coming  out  of  the  officers'  quar- 
ters, and  was  but  a  few  feet  from  the  door  when  the  half- 
nude  figure  of  Jack  Longley  came  to  an  anchor  right  in 
front  of  him.  No  sooner  did  the  madman  see  the  boy  than 
he  let  go  with  his  gun  and  sent  a  bullet  right  at  him.  Mighty 
fortunate  for  that  boy  that  the  chill  must  have  swept  over 
the  fever-stricken  frame  of  the  fiend  behind  that  gun,  or  he 
would  have  been  booked  for  kingdom  come.  That  was  a 
mighty  scared  boy,  I  reckon,"  said  the  pilot,  "and  he  did  not 
need  any  urging  to  dash  for  his  life  into  the  texas.  The 
fright  had  shriveled  him  up  so  that  he  didn't  have  much 
trouble  in  finding  a  place  to  hide. 

"The  crazy  man  didn't  bother  to  follow  the  boy,  but  came 
creeping  and  a-creeping  right  along,  squirming  like  some 
snake  in  the  tall  grass,  straight  for  the  pilot  house. 

"There  we  were,  happy  and  comfortable,  a-chatting  and 
smoking,  and  with  no  more  idea  than  an  unhatched  chicken 
that  we  were  standing  on  the  rim  of  a  volcano  that  was  just 
about  to  open  its  jaws  and  spout  death  in  all  directions.  You 
see,  we  didn't  hear  the  pistol  shot,  for  the  wind  blew  it  away 
from  us;  that  and  the  vibration  of  the  engines,  and  the  fact 
that  shots  are  too  frequent  hereabouts  to  cause  much  notice, 
deprived  us  of  a  warning  that  might  have  saved  more  lives 
than  one. 

"Silence,  for  some  reason,  had  settled  on  us  all,  and  each 
of  us  was  busy  with  his  thoughts.  It  was  the  calm  before 
the  storm,  the  lull  before  the  battle,  but  the  storm  has  to 
break  some  time,  and,  without  a  moment's  warning,  the  door 
of  the  pilot  house  flew  open  and  there  in  the  moonlight  stood 
what  once  was,  though  it  didn't  seem  like  it  then,  a  human 
form,  topped  by  the  most  hideous  and  terrifying  face  a 
human  ever  looked  on.  Not  a  stitch  of  clothing  covered 


'56  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

that  quivering  form,  for  the  maniac  had  thrown  off  every 
rag  that  he  owned.  I  can  see  him  now,  see  him  standing 
right  in  that  doorway,  see  the  great,  black,  protruding, 
bolting  eyes,  eyes  that  were  flashing  fire,  a  fire  not  of  this 
world;  great  green  balls  of  fire  that  blazed  from  their 
sunken  sockets  like  a  flame  you'd  see  under  a  witch's  caul- 
dron. His  nostrils  were  bunched  out  at  the  end  as  if  they 
would  crack  and  blow  up,  and  his  teeth  were  clenched  as  if 
'they  had  grown  together ;  but,  tight  as  they  were,  they  didn't 
drown  the  hoarse  rattle  which  vibrated  in  his  throat  and 
mingled  with  the  unearthly  snorting  noise,  like  a  panting 
bull,  which  seemed  to  be  trumpeted  through  his  nose,  while 
his  long,  coarse  hair,  electrified  by  some  terrible  and  mys- 
terious force,  almost  stuck  straight  up  from  his  head  and 
crowned  as  horrible  a  picture  as  human  eye  ever  looked  on. 

"Our  gaze  was  riveted  on  this  terrible  vision  but  for  a  mo- 
ment, the  flashing  eyes  seemed  to  have  hypnotized  us,  for 
not  one  of  us  moved  or  spoke  or  seemed  able  to  break  loose 
from  the  spell  which  the  sudden  and  unexpected  appearance 
of  the  maniac  had  cast  upon  us. 

"Before  we  could  make  a  move  the  maniac  had  pushed  the 
barrel  of  his  deadly  gun  against  the  back  of  the  purser's 
head,  and  Daniel  Blake,  without  a  moan,  crashed  lifeless  on 
the  wheelhouse  floor. 

"Before  I  could  recover  my  senses  or  move  a  muscle,  the 
gun  flashed  right  in  my  face,  and  I  felt  the  bullet  ripping  its 
way  along  the  top  of  my  head.  The  explosion  and  the  shock 
stunned  me,  and  down  I  went,  all  of  a  heap,  but  providen- 
tially, in  falling,  I  grasped  at  the  bell  ropes  hanging  around 
me,  ropes  which  communicated  with  the  engine  room,  and  as 
I  sank  senseless  the  bells  all  jangled  together.  I  heard  the 
racket  but  for  a  fraction  of  a  second,  but  thank  God  I  heard 
them  jangle,  and  that  was  the  sweetest  music  that  ever 
struck  a  human  ear  in  this  old  world,  just  believe  me. 

"Captain  Ketner,  a  huge  man  more  than  six  feet  tall  and  of 
herculean  strength,  was,  now  that  Blake  was  dead  and  I 
unconscious,  left  alone  to  deal  with  this  murderous  visitor, 
and  he  knew  he  was  in  for  a  struggle  in  which  more  than 
his  own  life  was  involved.  Instantly  he  jumped,  throwing 
the  entire  weight  of  his  bulky  form  on  the  maniac,  grasping 
Longley's  gun,  as  he  threw  his  entire  weight  upon  him. 
Bang!  went  that  cursed  gun  again,  blowing  away  three 
fingers  of  the  captain's  right  hand. 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  57 

"Almost  disabled,  alone  in  the  night  with  a  monster  pos- 
sessed of  superhuman  strength,  and  the  life  blood  rapidly 
pouring  from  his  shattered  hand,  Captain  Ketner  was  having 
his  troubles — troubles,  thank  God !  that  men  don't  meet  with 
every  day — and  silent  and  courageous  man  that  he  was,  it 
ain't  no  wonder  he  cried  aloud  in  the  agony  of  the  moment: 
'My  hand's  gone !  Great  God,  for  pity's  sake  help  a  feller 
out !' 

"Stunned  as  I  was,  those  words,  which  seemed  miles  away, 
faintly  reached  my  ears  and  recalled  me  to  life.  By  one 
mighty  effort  I  pulled  myself  together,  stumbled  to  my  feet, 
seized  an  iron  bar  that  was  conveniently  near,  and  smashed 
it  twice  with  such  strength  as  I  had  on  the  madman's  head. 
Then  I,  too,  grappled  with  him,  and  we  all  fell  together, 
struggling  and  rolling  all  over  the  still  warm  corpse  of  poor 
Blake,  smothering  ourselves  in  his  blood,  which  dyed  the 
floor. 

"The  Captain  did  what  he  could,  but  with  one  hand  use- 
less and  both  of  us  wounded,  we  were  no  match  for  this 
writhing  fiend,  who  had  the  strength  of  a  dozen  men. 

"Thank  God,  help  was  at  hand.  Tom  Green,  the  engineer, 
alarmed  at  the  strange  jangling  of  so  many  bells,  knew  at 
once  something  was  wrong;  and,  stopping  his  engines,  placed 
his  ear  to  the  speaking  tube  just  as  the  Captain  uttered  his 
agonizing  appeal  to  heaven  for  help.  In  a  few  seconds  Tom 
was  with  us  and  in  the  thick  of  the  deadly  struggle;  but 
even  with  his  help  and  the  help  of  others  who  had  now 
come  to  our  assistance  we  could  not  wrest  that  gun  from 
the  maniac's  grasp.  We  threw  him  in  the  corner  under  the 
wheel,  one  spoke  of  which  he  grasped  with  a  viselike  grip. 
Thank  God,  help  had  arrived,  for  the  Captain  and  I  were 
getting  faint  from  loss  of  blood,  which  in  the  struggle  had 
smothered  us  until  we  resembled  butchers  who  had  tripped 
and  stumbled  on  the  floor  of  a  reeking  slaughterhouse. 
Still  the  madman  fought  like  a  regiment  of  fiends,  and  we 
had  to  break  every  bone  in  his  hand  with  the  iron  bar  which 
had  already  been  vainly  hammered  on  his  skull  before  we 
could  get  that  gun  from  his  grasp. 

"With  superhuman  strength,  screaming  like  a  wildcat  and 
snorting  like  a  maddened  bull,  he  still  held  on  to  the  wheel, 
and  again  we  hammered  his  other  hand  to  pulp  before  he 
would  let  go  his  hold.  With  one  mighty  effort  he  tried  to 
rise,  but  the  last  bullet  left  in  the  pistol  that  had  done  such 


58  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

a  sight  of  mischief  crashed  into  his  seething  brain,  doing  its 
merciful  work,  and  Daniel  Blake  was  avenged. 

******* 

"I  was  sick  a  long  time,  and  Captain  Ketner  came  near 
losing  his  hand  from  blood  poisoning  and  nearly  dying  into 
the  bargain.  We  both  got  around  after  a  long  siege,  but 
neither  of  us  has  been  or  ever  will  be,  I  guess,  quite  the 
same  as  we  were  before  the  doings  of  that  awful  night." 

"Well,  Pilot,"  said  I,  "that's  a  terrible  story,  and  I  almost 
forgot  to  breathe  when  you  were  telling  it,  and  I  don't  won- 
der, after  such  a  night,  and  right  in  the  identical  spot  where 
the  tragedy  took  place,  that  your  mind  conjures  up  the  past 
until  the  chief  actors  of  the  tragedy  seem  to  actually  appear 
before  you." 

"My  young  friend,"  said  the  pilot,  with  impressive  earnest- 
ness, as  I  arose  to  go  to  my  stateroom,  "whether  you  believe 
in  ghosts  or  whether  you  don't,  I  want  to  tell  you  this  much 
right  now  and  here,  if  the  ghost  of  Daniel  Blake  don't  haunt 
this  boat,  may  my  hopes  of  a  hereafter  be  eternally  damned." 


WOMAN  AGAINST  WOMAN,  OR  HOW  THE  TABLES 
WERE  TURNED 

CHAPTER  I 

Gerald  Gray  was  tired  of  the  stage,  and,  having  a  chance 
to  settle  down  in  a  city  within  a  reasonable  distance  of  New 
York,  he  was  nothing  loath  to  accept  the  opportunity. 

Gerald  was  young,  handsome,  and  in  every  way  a  good 
fellow. 

He  was  not  brilliant,  neither  was  he  particularly  dull;  but 
any  lack  of  brilliancy  was  amply  atoned  for  by  his  good  na- 
ture, which  was  perennial. 

He  was  popular  with  the  men  and  adored  by  the  women, 
and  the  actor's  art,  of  which  he  had  been  no  mean  exponent, 
gave  him  an  added  interest  in  the  eyes  of  the  fair  sex  of  the 
bustling  city  of  Clairsburg. 

No  social  function  was  complete  without  his  presence  and 
no  entertainment  a  success  unless  his  name  figured  on  the 
program. 

It  was  Gerald's  intention  to  marry  for  money — love  and 
money,  if  possible,  but  certainly  the  latter  was  to  have  prece- 
dence over  any  claims  of  the  former,  no  matter  how  urgent. 

Gerald  was  not  mercenary,  but  money  was  necessary  to 
his  happiness. 

He  had  the  most  strenuous  objections  to  work,  even  that 
connected  with  the  artistic  and  exciting  duties  of  the  stage 
he  had  found  tedious  and  a  bore,  and  to  be  confronted  with 
the  obligatory  performance  of  tasks  unrelieved  by  a  scin- 
tilla of  artistic  leavening  would  have  been  to  him  odious 
and  unbearable.  Fortunately  he  had  found  a  position  that 
entailed  little  effort,  and  left  him  a  comfortable  balance  of 
time  and  money  to  devote  to  whatever  pleased  his  more 
than  ordinarily  luxurious  fancy. 

Gerald  had  not  long  to  wait.  In  Maud  Merton  he  found 
an  ideal  combination  of  beauty  and  wealth,  and  he  wooed 
and  won  her, 

59- 


60  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

Maud  was  the  only  daughter  of  a  wealthy  iron  manufac- 
turer, and  had  inherited  from  her  mother  in  her  own  right 
the  comfortable  sum  of  $250,000. 

Gerald  calculated  that  Maud's  inheritance,  added  to  what 
her  father  would  settle  on  her,  would  enable  them  to  worry 
along  comfortably  without  feeling  any  very  severe  twinges 
of  poverty.  True,  it  would  not  permit  of  yachts  or  race 
horses,  but,  as  he  was  not  enamored  of  either  sport,  the 
deprivation  of  these  luxuries  would  not  be  in  any  sense  a 
calamity. 

Maud  Merton  had  had  suitors  galore,  and  she  would  have 
had  as  many  had  not  her  beauty  been  backed  in  perspective 
by  her  fortune.  Though  but  a  girl  in  years,  the  responsi- 
bility of  her  position  in  her  father's  house — in  which  she 
took  her  mother's  place  with  rare  tact  and  charm — lent  a 
womanly  seriousness  to  her  nature  and  actions  quite  un- 
usual in  one  so  young;  a  quality  which  inspired  respect  as 
well  as  admiration. 

Her  features  were  perfect,  her  hair  a  glorious  golden 
brown,  and  her  eyes  of  a  lovely  blue-gray  contemplated  one 
with  an  expression  of  wistful,  frank  sincerity.  Goodness  and 
purity  were  stamped  in  her  face.  Max  Nordau  would  have 
found  no  trace  of  degeneracy,  natural  or  inherited,  in  her 
composition. 

If  it  is  the  misfortune  of  some  people  to  be  born  naturally 
bad,  it  was  her  fortune  to  be  born  entirely  lovable  and  good. 

Sincerity  and  trust  were  the  keynotes  of  her  character, 
and  innocence  and  sweetness  as  inherent  in  her  as  the  per- 
fume to  the  violet.  Evil  and  baseness  passed  her  by,  for 
they  struck  no  reechoing  chords  in  her  nature.  There  was 
nothing  prudish  about  her,  however,  and  she  keenly  enjoyed 
every  species  of  gayety  that  was  wholesome,  drawing  the 
line  irrevocably  at  the  ultra  smart  or  questionable. 

When  the  girls  of  her  set  swept  down  upon  her  for  tea 
and  small  talk,  the  risque  stories  and  cigarettes  that  "went" 
in  many  drawing-rooms  were  never  tolerated.  It  was  even 
whispered  that  one  girl,  the  most  dashing  in  Clairsburg,  and 
now  a  widow  more  dashing  than  ever,  aad  been  peremptorily 
requested  to  vacate  the  Merton  residence  because  she  had, 
under  the  influence  of  several  cups  of  strong  tea,  broken 
a  globe  of  the  chandelier,  six  inches  above  her  head,  with 
her  shapely  foot. 

The  envy  and  admiration  of  the  other  girls  was  bound- 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  'Book  6t 

less,  but  the  triumph  of  the  exuberant  damsel  was  short 
lived,  for  Maud  promptly  showed  Miss  Minnie  Dare  to  the 
door,  an  act  which  insured  her  Miss  Dare's  hostility  for 
life  and  the  unbounded  admiration  of  every  matron  in  the 
city. 

Miss  Minnie's  feelings  were  considerably  mollified,  how- 
ever, for  this  spicy  incident  caused  every  eligible  man  in 
Clairsburg  at  once  to  propose  to  her.  She  had  been  sought 
after  before,  but  this  spice  of  scandal  had  given  her  an 
added  piquancy  and  attraction,  and  there  was  at  once  a 
lively  competition  to  secure  a  life-long  mortgage  on  the 
lovely  girl. 

Minnie  was  finally  carried  off  by  a  local  "blood,"  who 
most  considerately  left  her  a  widow  six  months  after  he 
had  preempted  her  terpsichorean  performances  for  his  own 
special  and  private  delectation. 

Maud  Merton  loved  Gerald  Gray,  and  he,  in  turn,  loved 
her  a  great  deal  more  than  he  ever  imagined  he  was  capable 
of  doing.  But  Gerald's  heart  was  expansive,  and,  though 
he  gave  all  the  real  affection  he  was  capable  of  to  Maud, 
still  he  was  not  indifferent  to  the  eyes  that  were  cast  on 
him  from  other  directions,  and  that  eyes  were  cast  on  him 
even  his  innocent  fiancee  could  not  help  but  notice. 

Probably  no  eyes  looked  at  him  with  quite  the  same 
amount  of  interest  and  admiration  as  did  those  of  the  dash- 
ing and  widowed  Minnie,  who  in  her  heart  was  still  nourish- 
ing her  grudge  against  Maud,  though  her  widowhood  and 
afflictions  (  ?)  had  in  a  measure  bridged  the  gulf  and  made 
them  to  all  intents  and  purposes  friends  once  more. 

Minnie  had  vainly  longed  for  some  way  in  which  she 
could  have  her  revenge  upon  Maud,  but  the  opportunity  had 
never  presented  itself,  but  now  in  Gerald  she  thought  she 
saw  the  chance  for  which  she  had  long  waited. 

To  capture  Gerald,  with  whom  she  was  already  wildly 
enraptured,  would  indeed  be  a  revenge  complete,  satisfactory 
and  altogether  glorious  and  delightful.  True,  she  had  not 
the  money,  and  neither  had  she  the  perfect  beauty  of  her 
rival,  but  she  was  the  mistress  of  a  thousand  fascinating 
wiles  of  which  the  innocent  girl  knew  nothing,  and  men  in 
her  hands  were  the  veriest  toys,  to  be  manipulated  by  her 
deft,  dainty  fingers  at  will. 

If  Maud  was  the  lily,  she  was  the  full-blown  rose,  and 
only  the  connoisseur  would  have  preferred  the  matchless  per- 


62  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

faction  of  the  former  to  the  intoxicating  loveliness  of  the 
latter. 

Her  form  would  have  made  a  sculptor  discard  his  tools  in 
despair.  It  was  voluptuous  to  a  degree,  and  she  knew  how 
to  display  it  to  the  greatest  advantage.  Her  figure  had  been 
described  by  an  admirer  "as  the  envy  and  despair  of  every 
other  woman."  Her  dark  brown  hair  had  a  delightful  wave 
in  its  ample  tresses,  her  soft  cheeks  were  rosy  with  nature's 
own  coloring,  and  in  her  large  dark  eyes  a  golden  sunbeam 
seemed  ever  to  live,  while  the  pretty  pout  to  her  full  red  lip<| 
seemed  to  challenge  kisses. 

She  was  the  very  antithesis  to  Maud,  each  a  type  of  beauty, 
and  an  ideal  of  loveliness  peculiar  to  that  particular  type. 

Minnie  was  ever  laughing  and  full  of  mischief.  Widow- 
hood to  her  had  been  but  a  transient  period  of  grief  (  ?) 
which  was  entirely  overshadowed  by  the  knowledge  that  her 
mourning  attire  suited  her  stunningly,  while  the  additional 
freedom  her  new  position  gave  her  was  to  her  keenly  de- 
lightful. 

Altogether  she  could  be  labeled  as  distinctly  dangerous, 
as  bewitching  and  fascinating  a  mortal  as  ever  dazzled  hu- 
man eye,  and  it  speaks  volumes  for  the  beauty  of  Maud 
Merton  that  she  was  able  to  hold  her  lover  under  the  fierce 
assaults  that  were  made  upon  him  by  the  wiles  of  the  irre- 
sistible young  widow. 

Whatever  Gerald  may  have  felt  disposed  to  do,  one  thing 
he  knew  thoroughly  well,  and  that  was  that  Maud  Merton 
was  not  to  be  trifled  with,  and  that  the  first  sign  of  incon- 
stancy and  duplicity  on  his  part  would  inevitably  lead  to  his 
dismissal,  and  though  he  might  have  contemplated  her  loss 
with  equanimity  (which,  to  do  him  justice,  he  could  not)  he 
certainly  did  not  intend  to  lose  the  quarter  of  a  million  of 
cold  cash  which  loomed  enchantingly  behind  the  spirituelle 
beauty  of  the  fair  Maud. 

There  were  times  when  he  found  his  courtship  a  little 
tedious  and  Maud's  kisses  a  little  too  chaste  and  prim. 

Her  response  to  his  love  making  did  not  lack  warmth,  but 
her  nature  was  not  of  the  volcanic  order,  and  seemed  cold 
to  Gerald,  already  satiated  with  the  attentions  and  pettings 
of  the  fair  sex. 

Maud  did  not  hesitate  to  express  her  dislike  for  the  odor 
of  cigar  smoke  and  cocktails,  still  all  her  prudery  was  infi- 
nitely preferable  to  the  affections  of  the  ungrammatical  sou- 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  63 

brettes  whom  he  had  hitherto  fallen  back  upon  for  sympathy 
and  consolation. 

In  fact,  it  was  the  immense  contrast  Maud  Merton  afforded 
to  the  associates  of  his  former  years  and  career  that  had 
been  her  greatest  attraction  in  his  eyes,  had  awakened  all 
that  was  best  in  his  nature,  and  made  him. a  better  man  than 
he  ever  imagined  he  was  capable  of  being. 

Try  as  Minnie  would,  she  could  not  induce  Gerald  to 
accept  her  invitations  to  call.  Consequently  their  meetings 
were  only  on  social  occasions,  when  nothing  but  the  most' 
matter-of-fact  and  desultory  conversation  was  possible.  The 
fair  widow,  however,  was  not  discouraged.  She  knew  that 
all  she  needed  to  bring  her  plans  to  a  triumphant  and  suc- 
cessful climax  was  the  proper  opportunity,  and,  if  the  proper 
opportunity  did  not  present  itself  ready  made,  she  intended 
to  make  it.  At  last  a  brilliant  idea  struck  her.  Maud  Mer- 
ton was  deeply  interested  in  the  local  hospital,  which  was 
badly  in  need  of  funds.  She  would  give  an  entertainment 
and  raise  money  for  it. 

She  was  easily  the  best  amateur  actress  in  the  city,  and 
she  would  select  some  piece  in  which  she  and  Gerald  would 
have  some  strong  and  stirring  love  scenes.  She  felt  sure 
the  rehearsals  would  give  her  the  requisite  time  and  oppor- 
tunity to  fascinate  Gerald,  and,  if  not  to  effect  his  conquest 
and  alienation  from  his  betrothed,  at  least  she  would  make 
his  allegiance  to  her  tremble  in  the  balance  and  her  rival 
exceedingly  uncomfortable. 

Maud  intuitively  saw  the  motive  that  prompted  this  char- 
ity performance,  but  she  could  not  object  to  Gerald  taking 
part  in  it  without  appearing  small  and  churlish. 

The  rehearsals  began,  and  as  they  progressed  Maud  learned 
many  little  things  that  did  not  add  to  her  happiness  or 
strengthen  her  confidence  in  her  lover.  She  did  not  attend 
'the  rehearsals,  neither  did  she  confront  her  lover  with  the 
rumors  that  reached  her. 

Personally  she  found  no  change  in  him,  though  she  felt 
these  rehearsals  monopolized  more  of  his  time  than  she 
found  agreeable  to  sacrifice.  She  did  not  question  her  lover 
or  give  the  slightest  evidence  of  jealousy,  for  to  question 
him  would  be  tantamount  to  giving  him  his  conge,  and,  now 
that  the  first  signs  of  the  green-eyed  monster  seared  her 
heart,  she  found  all  her  resolutions  totter.  She  was  but  a 
poor,  weak  woman  after  all,  and  could  no  more  give  up 


64  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

Gerald  than  her  life.  She  saw  the  weak  spots  in  his  char- 
acter, but  she  was  now  not  only  willing  to  be  merciful  in 
judging  him,  but  to  alter  her  demeanor  toward  him,  so  that 
the  widow's  society  should  not  gain  any  charm  by  contrast. 

So  Maud  Merton,  seeing  her  rival's  plan  of  attack,  con- 
ceived a  counter  stroke.  It  was  woman's  wit  against 
woman's  wit,  and  she  did  not  fear  the  result.  As  she  con- 
templated her  plan  she  smiled  confidently.  She  would  fight 
Minnie  Dare  with  her  own  weapons,  and  best  her  at  her 
i  own  game. 

******* 

It  was  two  weeks  from  the  night  of  the  performance 
when  Maud  Merton  left  for  New  York  on  urgent  affairs  of 
her  own,  and  in  twenty-four  hours  she  returned,  smiling  and 
happy. 

The  next  day  a  very  distinguished,  clean-shaven,  gentle- 
manly man  of  about  thirty  appeared  in  Clairsburg.  He  was 
evidently  an  actor,  but  the  actor's  hallmark  had  not  stamped 
him  with  any  of  the  objectionable  features  frequently  no- 
ticeable in  the  poorer  members  of  his  profession.  With  him 
came  his  wife,  a  pretty  and  refined-looking  young  lady,  con- 
siderably his  junior. 

The  local  papers  next  day  announced  that  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Alexander,  of  New  York,  would  open  a  studio  in  the  Phoenix 
Block  on  Greene  Avenue,  and  give  lessons  in  elocution,  the 
art  of  acting,  stage  deportment,  fencing,  dancing,  etc.,  and 
had  also  most  kindly  consented  to  play  a  scene  from  "As 
You  Like  It"  at  the  forthcoming  entertainment  for  the  bene- 
fit of  the  local  hospital,  Mr.  Alexander  appearing  as  Orlando 
and  Mrs.  Alexander  in  her  famous  portrayal  of  Rosalind. 

The  advent  of  the  Alexanders  in  Clairsburg  caused  quite 
a  little  flutter,  and  when  the  sale  of  seats  commenced  but  a* 
few  hours  sufficed  in  which  to  dispose  of  them,  in  fact  the, 
house  was  soon  entirely  sold  out. 

In  the  days  previous  to  the  performance  Maud  Merton 
was  as  blithe  and  merry  as  a  bird.  This  change  was  not 
lost  on  Gerald,  and  he  was  as  much  mystified  as  he  was 
pleased. 

One  evening,  when  he  called  at  the  Merton  mansion,  he 
noticed  a  suspiciously  strong  smell  of  cigarette  smoke  and 
wondered  exceedingly. 

He  had  found  the  society  of  the  widow  thoroughly  con- 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  65 

genial  and  enjoyable.  He  would  not  acknowledge  that  she 
was  as  charming  as  Maud,  but  the  charms  she  possessed 
were  more  dangerous  to  a  man  of  his  character  and  temper- 
ament than  the  more  chaste  and  ideal  personality  of  his 
fiancee.  Unconsciously  he  found  himself  looking  forward  to 
these  rehearsals  with  a  great  deal  of  interest  as  each  suc- 
ceeding night  passed.  In  fact,  the  daily  meeting  with  Maud 
was  getting  to  be  a  matter  of  quite  subsidiary  interest. 

In  the  piece  they  were  to  play  was  one  ardent  love  scene 
in  which  considerable  embracing  was  necessary.  The  latter 
function  had  been  religiously  rehearsed. 

The  kissing  had  been  omitted,  for  Gerald  knew  that  the 
kissing  of  Minnie  Dare  other  than  at  the  performance  it- 
self, and  then  only  in  the  most  perfunctory  manner,  would 
be  at  once  the  means  of  bringing  matters  to  a  climax,  and 
then — a  long  farewell  to  all  his  prospects  of  getting  that 
quarter  of  a  million.  Still,  it  had  taken  considerable  heroism 
on  his  part  to  resist  those  lovely  lips  which  were  proffered 
to  him  nightly,  and  to  feel  the  palpitating,  voluptuous  form 
of  the  superb  creature  lingering  in  his  embrace.  Her  lan- 
guishing eyes  looking  unutterable  things  into  his  were 
enough  to  tempt  a  St.  Anthony,  and  Gerald  was — well,  not 
exactly  saintly. 

Madame  Minnie,  with  all  a  woman's  perspicacity,  knew  the 
sort  of  contest  that  was  raging  in  Gerald's  inner  self,  and 
she  felt  she  knew  how  much  longer  it  would  take  before  he 
capitulated. 

Personally  she  was  prepared  to  go  any  length,  depth  or 
extreme  to  obtain  her  object. 

What  she  had  commenced  in  a  spirit  of  revenge  was  now 
necessary  of  accomplishment  from  entirely  different  motives, 
and  was  linked  with  the  preservation  of  her  own  happiness, 
for  she  loved  this  man  with  all  the  intensity  of  her  pas- 
sionate nature. 

So  far  she  had  accomplished  nothing  definite,  but  she  had 
paved  the  way  for  a  more  direct  assault,  and  she  had  no 
misgivings  about  the  outcome. 

At  last  the  night  of  the  performance  arrived  and,  as  Ger- 
ald had  much  to  do  and  much  to  manage,  Maud  had  excused 
him  from  escorting  her  to  the  pretty  little  theatre,  the  pride 
of  Clairsburg. 

She  had  engaged  a  box,  and  would  reserve  a  seat  for  him, 


66  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

going  herself  with  some  girl  friends,  an  arrangement  which 
suited  Gerald  most  admirably. 

During  the  day  Gerald  had  received  a  dainty  little  missive 
from  Madame  Minnie  which  ran  as  follows: 

"Dear  Mr.  Gray:  Could  you  be  at  the  theatre  at  6:30,  or 
say  soon  after  six  o'clock  this  evening?  I  want  you,  if  you 
don't  mind,  to  be  so  good  as  to  instruct  me  in  the  mysteries 
of  make-up,  an  art  which  I  know  you  understand.  I  feel  I 
shall  need  considerable  making-up  to  effect  a  presentable 
appearance,  and  perhaps  you  would  not  mind  touching  up 
my  face  for  me.  I  appointed  an  early  hour,  as  I  know  there 
will  be  much  confusion  later,  and  I  am  anxious  to  avoid 
anything  that  will  increase  the  nervousness  I  already  feel. 
I  am  so  anxious  for  the  success  of  our  scenes  that  perhaps 
we  may  find  time  to  run  through  them  also  if  you  are  not 
too  busy. 

"Very  sincerely  yours, 

"MINNIE  CUNARDE." 

Gerald,  of  course,  replied  that  he  would  be  delighted  to 
meet  his  artistic  copartner  at  the  time  agreed,  though  even 
his  moral  obtuseness  did  not  blind  him  to  the  fact  that  he 
was  running  considerable  risk  in  so  doing.  Still,  the  re- 
quest was  a  perfectly  rational  and  reasonable  one,  innocent 
enough  in  itself  and  one  he  could  hardly  refuse. 

He  knew  that  he  was  scarcely  loyal  to  his  fiancee,  but 
there — she  was  innocent  and  unsuspecting,  he  thought,  and 
would  never  know.  What  did  it  matter? 

Gerald  could  not  say  "no"  to  a  woman,  and  he  was  already 
infatuated  with  this  one. 

He  dined  early  and  at  six  o'clock  was  putting  the  finishing 
touches  on  his  make-up  in  his  dressing  room  at  the  theater 
and  waiting  the  fair  Minnie's  arrival  with  an  amount  of 
pleasurable  excitement  that  he  did  not  try  to  suppress. 

At  6:15  there  was  a  rustling  of  silk  in  the  hallway  which 
made  the  lethargic  organ  Gerald  called  his  heart  accelerate 
its  movements  most  perceptibly. 

There  was  a  knock  at  his  door,  a  cheery  "Come  in,"  and 
the  charming  widow  appeared  on  the  threshold. 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  67 


CHAPTER  II 

"Goon  evening,  Mr.  Gray.  How  lovely  of  you  to  come  so 
early.  Now  I  want  you  to  make  up  this  face  of  mine  'a  la 
professional.'  I  know  if  you  don't  I  shall  look  a  perfect 
fright,  while  you  look  simply  grand,"  a  remark  which  Gerald 
had  heard  from  many  a  dainty  matinee  girl  in  days  gone  by, 
but  which  now  came  from  Minnie's  lips  with  all  the  refresh- 
ing air  of  absolute  novelty.  * 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Cunarde,"  said  Gerald,  "my  face  needs  all 
my  art  to  make  it  presentable,  but  it  is  profanation  to  soil 
those  superb  cheeks  and  lashes  of  yours  with  nasty  pigments. 
You  insist — well,  I  will  do  as  you  say,  and  make  you  up 
like  a  real  live  actress." 

"Oh,  that  is  what  I  want,"  replied  Minnie,  brimming  over 
with  satisfaction,  "but  had  I  not  better  remove  some  of  my 
wraps  ?" 

"Yes,  it  is  quite  a  ticklish  job,  and  you  want  to  dispense 
with  as  much  of  your  attire  as  possible,  and  put  something 
around  your  shoulders,  as  the  rouge  and  powder  soil  every- 
thing. Don't  be  long;  we  shall  not  have  much  time  to  our- 
selves." 

Minnie  needed  no  further  instructions,  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes reappeared  at  Gerald's  door. 

She  had  discarded  her  waist,  replacing  it  by  a  little  silken 
shawl,  which  was  thrown  loosely  on  her  shoulders. 

Gerald  seated  her  before  a  large  mirror,  on  either  side  of 
which  a  gas  jet  flared  brightly,  and,  drawing  up  a  chair  be- 
side her,  he  rolled  up  his  sleeves. 

She  put  her  face  forward,  puckering  her  lips  into  a  little 
rosebud,  and  as  she  closed  her  eyes  the  shawl  fell  from  her 
shoulders. 

While  he  gently  smoothed  her  fair  face  with  cold  cream 
his  hands  lingered  caressingly  on  her  throat,  and  his  eyes 
drank  in  the  beauties  of  her  exquisite  neck  and  shoulders. 

As  for  Minnie,  she  was  in  a  transport  of  bliss.  She  knew 
she  was  desperately  in  love  with  this  man  who  was  engaged 
and  shortly  to  be  married  to  another,  and  the  double  delight 
of  mingled  passion  and  revenge  nearly  suffocated  her. 

After  to-night  their  meetings  must  end,  unless 

Although  there  would  be  no  more  excuse  for  rehearsals, 
she  did  not  intend  that  they  should  end.  The  delightful  little 


68  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

tete-a-tetes,  the  embraces,  had  become  almost  necessary  for 
her  existence,  and  should  not  be,  if  she  could  help  it,  mock- 
ing memories,  while  another  reveled  in  the  pleasures  and 
delights  she  felt  must  belong  to  her. 

She  knew  there  was  only  one  way  to  win  Gerald  from  the 
girl  he  loved — the  arts  of  the  siren,  the  display  of  physical 
beauty,  the  appeal  to  his  senses.  She  was  willing  to  do  any- 
thing in  the  world  now  to  hold  him  and  to  bring  about  a 
rupture  of  his  engagement  with  Maud  Merton. 

But  some  one  else  had  reasoned  just  as  Minnie  was  doing 
now,  and  the  cards  she  was  playing  were  to  be  followed  and 
covered  by  stronger  cards  of  a  similar  suit  and  perhaps — 
trumped. 

Gerald,  manlike,  was  viewing  the  matter  in  a  different 
light. 

Personally  he  felt  quite  capable  of  loving  both  the  fair 
and  chaste  Miss  Merton  and  also  the  voluptuous  and  beau- 
tiful Mrs.  Cunarde. 

A  blonde,  you  know,  has  charms  that  are  lacking  in  a 
brunette,  and  vice  versa,  and  it  seemed  hard  to  have  to  dis- 
pense with  one  or  the  other  when  one  loved  them  both. 
Really,  the  ways  of  life  were  quite  inscrutable  to  Gerald,  so 
all  he  could  do  was  to  drift  with  the  tide,  he  thought,  and 
look  out  for  rocks. 

"Now,  the  next  thing,  Mrs.  Cunarde,  is " 

"Don't  call  me  Mrs.  Cunarde.  Call  me  Zoe,  my  name  in 
the  play,  and  I'll  call  you  Jack." 

The  making-up  was  progressing  slowly. 

"Will  that  do,  Jack  ?"    The  drooping  lids  were  half  raised. 

"Yes,  Zoe.  Please  call  me  Jack.  And  now  Jack  is  going 
to  powder  your  face  and  neck,  and,  as  a  great  deal  depends 
on  the  powder  being  distributed  properly,  Zoe  must  lean 
her  head  on  Jack's  shoulder." 

She  willingly  obeyed  his  suggestion.  His  arm  encircled 
her  neck  and  his  left  hand  lay  caressingly  on  her  shoulder 
as  he  deftly  distributed  the  powder  with  the  other  hand. 

"How  would  you  like  me  for  your  maid,  Zoe?"  said  Ger- 
ald, as  with  a  delicate  hare's  foot  he  applied  the  rouge  to 
cheeks  whose  beauteous  coloring  the  powder  had  obscured. 

"You  would  make  a  delightful  maid,  Jack,  but  I  fear  you 
would  be  a  long  time  with  my  toilet,"  and  her  eyes  looked 
straight  into  his. 

"Wouldn't  you  want  me  to  take  lots  of  time,  Zoe  ?" 


''Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  69 

"Yes,  an  eternity,  and  after  that  another  eternity,  but " 

"But  what?" 

"How  about  Miss  Merton?  Could  she  dispense  with  you 
for  so  long  a  time  ?" 

She  watched  closely  the  effect  her  rival's  name  would 
have  on  the  face  now  looking  unutterable  things  into  hers. 

"Oh,  never  mind  Maud  now,"  Gerald  said  petulantly, 
throwing  down  the  hare's  foot  and  encircling  her  waist  with 
the  disengaged  arm,  while  his  eyes  drank  in  the  charms 
which  he  knew  were  his  for  the  asking. 

Minnie,  intoxicated  with  the  joy  of  the  moment,  gave  a 
sigh  of  complete  happiness. 

Gerald  drew  her  rapturously  toward  him,  and  whispering 
passionately  "Darling!"  kissed  her  again  and  again  on  the 
lips. 

There  was  a  decided  contrast  in  that  kiss,  which  set  his 
very  soul  aflame,  to  the  chaste  kisses  of  Miss  Merton,  and 
the  contrast  was  not  lost  on  Gerald. 

"Jack,  dear,"  said  Minnie,  as  she  caressed  his  short,  crisp 
curly  hair,  "when  the  performance  is  over  to-night  will  you 
take  Miss  Merton  home — then  will  you  come  to  me?  We 
shall  be  entirely  alone  and " 

"And  what?"  reechoed  Gerald,  with  a  laugh. 

"Oh,  we'll  have  a  cozy  supper  together,  darling,"  said 
Minnie,  "and " 

A  noise  in  the  hallway  made  them  start  guiltily,  and  the 
making-up  was  assiduously  resumed  till  nothing  more  could 
be  done.  Then  the  scenes  were  rehearsed  with  an  ardor 
that  thrilled  them  beyond  words,  and  as  the  face  was  rouged 
for  the  performance,  and  could  no  longer  be  touched,  he 
kissed  her  white  neck  and  arms  till  the  clock  warned  them 
they  must  part,  and  with  the  words  "To-night,  darling!"  on 
her  lips,  which  he  at  once  repeated,  she  stepped  into  the 
hallway. 

As  they  stood  at  the  door  and  the  word  "darling"  fell 
from  his  lips,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Alexander  and  another  lady, 
closely  veiled,  whom  they  did  not  recognize,  passed  by  them 
to  their  rooms.  Had  Gerald  known  that  the  veiled  and 
cloaked  figure  was  none  other  than  his  betrothed  he  would 
not  probably  have  whistled  as  joyously  as  he  did. 

The  performance  was  now  at  its  height.  Mrs.  Cunarde 
and  Gerald  had  been  very  successful,  and  Gerald  had  led 
the  blushing  and  happy  Minnie  before  the  curtain,  while  the 


70  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

elite  of  Clairsburg  hailed  them  with  applause  and  showered 
them  with  flowers.  As  they  passed  to  their  rooms  they 
found  time  for  a  hasty  kiss  behind  the  scenes. 

Gerald  was  not  entirely  happy.  He  was  sufficiently  infatu- 
ated with  Minnie  to  almost  risk  a  rupture  with  his  fiancee, 
still,  if  he  could  conduct  an  affair  with  one  and  retain  the 
love  of  the  other  he  meant  to  do  it.  A  contemptible  hero, 
perhaps — but  then,  heroes  are  impossible  folk  at  the  best  of 
times,  and,  well — what  would  the  majority  of  men  have  done 
in  his  position? 

Gerald  was  puzzled  about  Maud.  Her  friends  were  in  her 
box,  but  her  seat  was  vacant,  and  no  message  came  from  her. 
Something  was  in  the  air,  he  felt,  but  what?  A  feeling  of 
apprehension  and  uncertainty  took  possession  of  him  and 
made  him  exceedingly  uncomfortable. 

He  was  already  in  evening  dress,  so  hastily  removing  the 
make-up  from  his  face,  in  a  few  minutes  after  the  fall  of 
the  curtain  he  was  occupying  the  seat  Maud  had  reserved 
for  him  in  her  box.  Mrs.  Cunarde,  in  an  opposite  box,  was 
receiving  the  congratulations  of  her  friends,  with  her  eyes 
fixed  on  Gerald  and  wondering  also  at  the  absence  of  Maud 
Merton. 

The  entr'acte  music  ceased  and  the  house  was  silent,  as  the 
treat  of  the  evening  was  about  to  come — the  newcomers, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Alexander  in  a  scene  from  "As  You  Like  It." 

A  few  dreamy  bars  of  music  and  the  curtain  rolled  up  to 
disclose  the  Forest  of  Arden. 

The  "set"  was  a  beautiful  one  and  quite  new  to  Clairsburg. 

Mr.  Alexander  as  Orlando  was  carving  the  name  of  his 
beloved  Rosalind  on  the  forest  tree. 

A  splendid  figure  he  made,  so  much  so  that  Mr.  Gerald 
Gray  was  quite  forgotten,  and  he  noticed  with  a  jealous 
feeling  that  even  Minnie  Cunarde's  eyes,  which  had  scarcely 
been  diverted  from  his  direction  for  two  consecutive  seconds, 
were  now  thoroughly  absorbed  in  watching  the  graceful 
figure  and  listening  to  the  superb  elocution  of  the  Orlando 
of  Mr.  Alexander.  Then  came  the  signal  for  Rosalind's  ap- 
pearance, and  all  Clairsburg  was  anxious  to  see  the  actress 
.dio  had  come  to  live  among  them. 

They  had  not  long  to  wait.  There  was  a  ripple  of  laugh- 
ter, a  rustling  of  dry  leaves  as  dainty  feet  brushed  them 
aside,  and  Rosalind  in  all  her  beauty  stood  revealed. 

For  a  moment  there  was  dead  silence.     Who  was  this 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  71 

beautiful  creature — this  Rosalind?  It  was  not  Mrs.  Alex- 
ander, but  Maud  Merton !  Any  doubt  on  that  point  was 
set  aside  when  she  began  to  repeat  the  lines  of  Shakespeare 
so  beautifully  and  with  such  charm  and  naivete  that  the 
whole  audience  was  spellbound.  But  there  were  other  charms 
besides  the  acting,  and  Clairsburg  was  mute  with  astonish- 
ment at  seeing  the  modest,  retiring  and  ultra  correct  Miss 
Merton  in  the  full  tights  of  the  professional  Rosalind  cos- 
tume. Even  the  conventional  high  boots  were  discarded,  and 
certainly  more  beautiful  limbs  never  graced  the  classic  cos- 
tume. She  wore  her  own  abundant  hair  and  only  sufficient 
coloring  to  counteract  the  glare  of  the  footlights.  Her  natty 
little  cap  sat  jauntily  on  her  dainty  little  head.  Her  white 
ballet  shirt,  with  its  deep  collar,  was  wide  open,  showing 
the  exquisite  curve  of  her  fair  white  neck.  The  little  doublet 
and  jerkin  fitted  snugly  to  her  figure.  Surely  a  daintier  and 
prettier  Rosalind  never  stepped  on  a  stage. 

Her  movements  were  the  perfection  of  grace,  and  so  well 
chosen  that  criticism  was  disarmed.  Vivacious,  but  at  the 
same  time  perfectly  modest,  she  charmed  the  audience,  and 
even  the  most  proper  old  maid  was  forced  to  applaud. 

The  delightful  scene  was  soon  over,  and  the  curtain  was 
raised  again  and  again.  Even  then  Clairsburg  was  not  satis- 
fied until  Orlando  had  led  his  lovely  Rosalind  before  the 
curtain. 

In  crossing  the  stage  Maud  passed  within  a  few  feet  of 
Gerald,  who  was  so  dumfounded  that  he  had  lost  the  power 
of  speech  and  action.  His  condition  of  collapse  had  not  been 
lost  on  Minnie  Cunarde,  who  was  herself  experiencing  that 
mental  agitation  which  has  been  aptly  called  "a  state  of 
mind." 

While  Gerald  was  mentally  groping  for  light  and  trying  to 
evolve  a  course  of  action  a  note  was  placed  in  his  hands. 

He  recognized  Maud's  writing  and  excitedly  tore  it  open. 
It  ran  briefly: 

"Dear  Gerald :  Don't  forget  to  wait  for  me. 

"MAUD." 

He  had  expected  it  to  say:  "Please  do  not  trouble  your- 
self to  wait  for  me,"  and  his  guilty  mind  realized  that  such 
ought  to  have  been  its  contents,  and  the  fact  that  it  was 
otherwise  filled  him  with  intense  relief.  The  events  of  the 
evening  had  all  been  so  swift  and  momentous  that  Gerald's 


72  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

brain — not  a  very  brilliant  one  at  reasoning — was  fairly 
staggered.  Had  he  been  aware  that  Maud's  performance  had 
all  been  undertaken  for  his  benefit  and  to  confound  her  rival, 
he  would  doubtless  have  felt  very  much  easier  and  happier 
in  his  mind,  but  it  did  not  appear  to  him  in  that  light. 

To  do  him  justice,  he  had  not  sufficient  egotism  or  conceit 
to  imagine  that  the  quiet  Maud  Merton  would  make  such  a 
personal  exposure  of  her  beauty  as  to  publicly  exhibit  her- 
self in  tights  for  the  sole  purpose  of  competing  for  his  love 
with  similar  weapons  to  those  used  by  her  more  daring  and 
unscrupulous  rival. 

Minnie  Cunarde,  with  a  woman's  perception,  more  worldly 
wise  and  experienced,  realized  it  all  at  once  and  felt,  with  a 
wretched  sinking  of  the  heart,  that  she  had  been  beaten  at 
her  own  game. 

Still,  she  felt  that  Gerald  would  keep  his  appointment,  and 
if  he  did — well,  she  would  see. 

"Hello;  Gerald !  Are  you  tired  of  waiting?  Give  me  your 
arm." 

It  was  Maud  who  spoke,  her  face  flushed  with  excitement 
and  happiness. 

"No,  dearest,  I'm  not  tired.  I'm  only — oh,  well — lost  for 
words,"  replied  Gerald,  visibly  embarrassed. 

"Did  you  really  think  my  Rosalind  a  fair  performance?" 
she  asked. 

"Yes,  ideal  and  bewitching.  But,  Maud,  I  never  had  the 
least  idea  you  could  act.  You  have  always  seemed  rather 
averse  to  the  stage,"  said  Gerald,  still  groping  in  the  dark, 
and  hardly  knowing  what  to  say  or  how  to  say  it. 

"Well,  I  am  averse  to  most  stage  performances,  but  this 
was  a  charitable  performance  in  more  ways  than  one,  and 
I  will  always  sacrifice  myself  in  the  cause  of  charity.  And 
then,  Mr.  Alexander  is  such  a  splendid  actor,  and  it  was 
such  a  treat  to  rehearse  the  love  scenes  with  him.  He 
makes  love  so  divinely,  really,  I  never  experienced  anything 
like  it  before.  His  kisses  are  divine,  intoxicating,  glorious. 
Your  efforts  in  that  direction  have  been  quite  dull  and  com- 
monplace compared  to  Mr.  Alexander's,"  she  added,  her  eyes 
sparkling  mischievously  in  the  moonlight. 

"Why  didn't  you  invite  me  to  your  rehearsals,  Maud 
dear?" 

"For  the  same  reason  you  did  not  invite  me  to  yours  with 
the  widow." 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  73 

Gerald  was  not  feeling  very  comfortable.  All  his  life  his 
conquest  of  the  fair  sex  had  been  easy  and  complete,  never 
before  had  he  felt  the  least  pang  of  jealousy. 

He  was  now  interviewing  the  green-eyed  monster  for  the 
first  time,  and  he  found  the  interview  extremely  painful. 

A  little  jealousy  is  an  excellent  corrective  for  an  over- 
confident lover. 

When  they  had  reached  the  elegant  and  luxurious  home 
over  which  Maud  presided,  and  he  had  helped  her  to  remove 
her  wraps,  she  excused  herself  for  a  few  minutes,  while 
Gerald  paced  up  and  down,  trying  to  do  what  he  admitted 
was  the  least  of  his  accomplishments — thinking. 

In  a  little  while  Maud  returned  attired  in  a  little  Japanese 
kimono  of  black  and  gold,  and  in  which  she  looked  so  lovely 
Gerald  was  fairly  entranced.  He  rushed  to  embrace  her, 
but  she  waved  him  away. 

She  threw  herself  on  a  lounge,  and  before  he  had  gath- 
ered his  startled  senses  she  drew  out  a  dainty  silver  case 
and,  taking  a  cigarette,  struck  a  match  on  the  heel  of  her 
tiny  slipper  and  puffed  away  with  the  nonchalance  of  an 
old  smoker. 

"So  you  liked  my  Rosalind,  and  how  did  I  look  from  the 
front?  Did  I  wear  those — ah  (puff) — tights  properly,  and 
did  they  look  properly  filled,  as  it  were  (puff)  ?"  pursing 
up  her  lips  as  she  blew  tiny  rings  of  fragrant  Egyptian  to- 
bacco smoke  ceilingward. 

"You  looked  divine,  darling.  Beautiful  I  knew  you  were, 
but,  really,  such  a  revelation  of  beauty  I  never  suspected," 
said  Gerald,  half  in  a  dream. 

"Oh,  there  are  so  many  things  you  dear,  stupid,  innocent 
men  never  suspect,  so  your  confession  has  not  the  charm  of 
novelty,"  and  one  little  bare  foot  slipped  from  the  lounge 
and  swung  to  and  fro  coquettishly. 

"You  don't  even  suspect,  dense  creature,  that  I  am  thirsty, 
but  I  am !  Go  to  the  sideboard ;  you  will  find  some  cham- 
pagne. I  find  it  quite  indispensable  now  I've  begun  to  act, 
and  I  feel  awfully  grateful  to  darling  Cecil — I  mean  Mr. 
Alexander — for  introducing  me  to  the  divine  beverage."  This 
Maud  said  with  a  serious  face,  though  hardly  able  to  re- 
strain her  laughter. 

Gerald  could  not  reply.  His  tongue  had  quite  forgotten 
how  to  act. 


74  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

He  sheepishly  obeyed,  and  brought  her  a  glass,  which  she 
sipped  as  he  stood  by  her  side. 

"Help  yourself,  Gerald,  if  you  are  sure  it  won't  go  to  your 
head,"  she  said  imperiously,  and  without  the  ghost  of  a 
smile,  emptying  her  own  glass  into  a  near-by  jardiniere. 

He  returned  to  the  sideboard  and  filled  his  glass. 

As  he  put  it  to  his  lips  she  stopped  him  laughingly. 

"Well,  I  think  you  are  awfully  rude  to  drink  without 
toasting  me,  and  to  leave  me  with  an  empty  glass  is  simply 
unpardonable." 

Gerald  filled  her  glass  with  fear  and  trembling.  What 
could  she  mean — she  who  had  never  touched  wine  in  her 
life? 

They  toasted  each  other  and  touched  glasses.  Gerald 
drained  his,  and  Maud,  after  taking  a  sip,  put  hers  aside. 

"Now,  Master  Gerald,  I  think  I  will  let  you  kiss  me. 
Come  and  kneel  down  by  my  side,  and  remember  I  want  a 
real  kiss,  nothing  cold  and  sisterly,  but  something  like  Mr. 
Alexander  gave  me. 

Gerald  threw  himself  on  his  knees  by  her  side  and,  putting 
his  arm  under  her  head,  drew  her  toward  him,  and  their  lips 
met  in  a  kiss  that  promised  never  to  end. 

Gerald  was  delirious  with  delight;  he  realized  what  he 
had  nearly  lost  by  his  own  folly.  The  pure  gold  he  had  been 
willing  to  throw  away  for  the  dross.  For  dross  indeed  were 
all  women  compared  with  the  peerless  creature  in  his  arms. 

Maud  also  was  perfectly  happy.  She  had  been  forced  to 
play  the  hateful  part  she  had  to  preserve  her  own  happi- 
ness and  to  save  a  man  who,  though  unworthy  of  her,  was 
the  only  man  in  the  world  she  loved. 

The  long  embrace  was  broken  by  a  tiny  thud  on  the  carpet. 
The  little  slipper  had  fallen  from  her  foot  to  the  floor. 

"Gerald,  dear,  put  my  slipper  on  again,"  she  said,  pushing 
out  her  little  dainty  foot. 

Gerald,  on  his  knees  before  her,  took  the  little  foot  in  his 
hand  and  kissed  it  rapturously. 

A  woman's  stratagem  had  won. 

****** 

Mrs.  Cunarde,  by  the  latest  account,  was  still  waiting  for 
Gerald  Gray  to  keep  his  appointment,  and  by  still  later  ac- 
count she  is  likely  to  wait  a  very  long  time — certainly  until 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gerald  Gray  (nee  Maud  Merton)  return  from 
a  year's  honeymoon  abroad. 


LILY,  OR  HELP  WANTED! 

I  SHALL  remember  Lily  if  I  live  to  be  a  million  years  old, 
for  nothing  could  ever  efface  the  recollections  that  cling  and 
cluster  tenderly  about  that  name,  symbolic  of  purity,  neat- 
ness, cleanliness,  chastity  and  all  the  known  virtues. 

I  do  not  know  who  was  responsible  for  naming  her  Lily, 
but  I  do  know  that  whoever  was  guilty  of  this  unseemly  act 
has  a  great  deal  to  answer  for,  for  there  was  nothing,  posi- 
tively nothing  suggestive  of  flowers  about  this  particular 
Lily,  and  least  of  all  a  flower  of  such  exquisite  grace,  beauty 
and  purity  as  the  one  whose  name  she  bore. 

There  is  nothing  very  romantic  about  the  way  I  plucked 
this  particular  Lily  from  the  industrial  garden  of  wage- 
seeking  humanity.  I  needed  help  and  drafted  an  advertise- 
ment that  read  somewhat  as  follows : 

"Wanted — A  refined,  ladylike  girl,  not  over  twenty-eight 
years  of  age,  to  do  light  housework  and  plain  cooking  in 
small  apartment.  Only  two  adults  in  family.  No  laundry; 
daily  liberty.  Treated  as  one  of  the  family.  Apply,  stating 
salary  required." 

Before  inserting  the  above  "ad"  in  one  of  the  big  dailies 
I  had  called  up  an  employment  agency,  and  the  woman  who 
owned  the  place  assured  me  that  she  had  the  very  girl  I 
wanted.  Was  she  ladylike  and  refined  ?  Oh,  positively ! 
i  Came  from  a  very  old  New  York  family,  old  Manhattan 
Dutch  stock  that  had  come  down  in  the  world.  Mrs.  Bel- 
mont  and  Mrs.  Astor  had  nothing  on  Lily  in  the  way  of 
refinement.  Could  she  cook  ?  Cook !  Oh,  say,  that  was  the 
one  thing  in  which  she  excelled.  The  chefs  at  the  Plaza, 
Martin's,  St.  Regis,  Shanley's,  Rector's,  etc.,  all  ten-thousand- 
dollar-a-year  experts,  came  to  her  to  get  pointers  for  special 
dishes  with  which  to  tickle  the  jaded  palates  of  their  over- 
fed and  satiated  guests.  Was  she  honest?  Honest!  If  she 
found  a  dollar  bill  floating  around  ownerless,  on  the  side- 

75 


76  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

walks  of  the  city,  she  would  spend  weeks  tramping  from  the 
Battery  to  Yonkers,  in  a  determined  effort  to  find  the  owner. 

Evidently  Lily  was  a  paragon  of  all  the  virtues  and  just 
what  I  wanted.  However,  I  determined  to  see  first  what} 
my  "ad"  brought  forth  before  engaging  her. 

The  advertisement  produced  a  deluge  of  letters.  There 
were  scores  of  them.  About  one-third  of  them  showed  illit- 
eracy. I  made  every  allowance  for  foreigners  ignorant  of 
our  language  and  for  those  who  had  but  little  opportunity  of 
acquiring  an  education,  but  still  the  illiteracy  was  too  much 
in  evidence,  considering  the  money  spent  on  our  public 
school  system.  I  noticed  one  marked  and  striking  peculiar- 
ity— the  more  illiterate,  or  the  more  useless  and  incompetent 
the  writer,  the  higher  the  wages  demanded.  Bluff  as  a  sub- 
stitute for  efficiency  never  gets  by,  and  never  will. 

Another  third  of  the  letters  came  from  people  of  refine- 
ment, breeding  and  education.  All  were  written  on  expen- 
sive stationery,  heraldic  embellishments  cropping  up  fre- 
quently. Nearly  all  were  from  people  who  had  seen  better 
days,  and  who  did  not  care  to  enter  an  office,  as  they  would  be 
thrown  into  too  close  contact  with  men  lacking  the  refine- 
ment and  culture  to  which  they  had  been  accustomed.  Then, 
too,  very  terrible  things  appear  in  the  newspapers  as  to  the 
risk  young  girls  run  who  apply  in  person  for  positions  in 
office  buildings  and  lofts,  where  perhaps  only  one  man  is  in 
charge,  and  he  snaps  the  key  of  the  door  behind  the  girl 
applicant  who  seeks  work. 

Some  of  these  letters  were  quite  brief,  some  quite  volu- 
minous, but  no  matter  whether  short  or  long,  the  writers  in 
nine  cases  out  of  ten  would  not,  though  specially  requested, 
supply  any  information  that  would  give  one  an  idea  of  their 
capabilities;  and  the  cooking  question  was  entirely  shelved, 
as  was  also  the  matter  of  wages.  The  very  things  one 
wanted  to  know  were  nearly  always  passed  by  without  no- 
tice. Very  unbusinesslike,  and  vividly  explaining  why  so 
many  who  seek  positions  never  receive  answers  from  those 
to  whom  they  apply  for  work. 

When  the  salary  was  mentioned  at  all  it  was  preposter- 
ously high,  ranging  from  $25.00  up  to  $60.00  a  month.  There 
were  several  who  wrote  in  a  patronizing  and  sometimes  al- 
most imperious  tone.  These  letters  came  from  cultured 
women  who  had  held  positions  as  companions,  secretaries, 
governesses  and  housekeepers  in  the  families  of  the  suddenly 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  77 

rich.     Here  is  a  letter  written  by  one  of  these  ladies  and 
typical  of  the  rest : 

"Dear  Madam:  With  reference  to  your  'ad'  which  ap- 
peared in paper,  I  beg  to  state  that  I  have  been  em- 
ployed by  a  number  of  the  wealthiest  and  most  prominent 
families  in  the  United  States.  (Here  followed  a  list  of  all 
the  ancient  and  'recently  arrived'  gold  bugs  of  the  U.  S.)  I 
shall  be  glad  to  superintend  the  servants  and  order  material 
for  the  children's  dresses.  Salary,  $100.00  a  month. 
"Respectfully  yours, 

"MAY  PRESTON  MARTINE." 

I  had  to  decline  the  service  of  this  and  other  aristocratic 
employees  of  the  favored  rich,  for  good  and  sufficient  rea- 
sons, some  of  which  will  be  apparent  to  the  reader.  First 
and  most  important,  I  have  no  children  needing  attention, 
and  certainly  none  that  require  an  expert  to  select  the  ma- 
terial for  their  clothing;  and  I  never  would  employ  a  woman 
of  American  birth  who  would  refer  to  domestic  help  as 
servants,  having  extensive  knowledge  of  how  that  word  is 
arrogantly  and  reproachfully  applied  to  the  humble  "maid 
of  all  work,"  the  "slavey"  of  Europe.  No,  we  had  no  "ser- 
vants" to  superintend,  no  children  that  needed  experts  to 
select  their  clothing,  and,  above  all,  not  being  in  the  billion- 
aire class,  we  had  positively  no  idea  of  paying  anyone  a 
hundred  dollars  a  month  for  services  which,  though  pos- 
sibly invaluable  to  the  rich,  would  be  valueless  to  us. 

Some  of  the  letters  (and  I  quote  from  all  exactly  as  they 
were  written)  were  even  more  preposterous  than  this.  From 
these  letters  I  gathered  that  the  millionaire  class  of  the 
United  States  is  guilty  of  keeping  from  useful  labor  thou- 
sands of  people  who  would  be  far  better  employed  in  doing 
something  of  value  to  society. 

I  selected  a  number  of  the  letters  that  impressed  me  most 
favorably  and  made  arrangements  with  the  writers  to  call. 
I  especially  impressed  on  all  of  these  if  they  were  over 
thirty  years  of  age  the  journey  would  be  fruitless.  My  rea- 
sons for  wanting  youth  can  be  easily  explained.  A  young 
girl  is  usually  anxious  to  learn  and  will  take  advice  and  in- 
struction gracefully  and  gratefully,  and  endeavor  to  fit  into 
the  scheme  of  things.  So  many  young  girls  who  come 
straight  from  the  country  get  discouraged  with  the  treat- 


78  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

ment  they  receive  as  houseworkers,  store  clerks,  factory 
help,  etc.,  and  gradually  drift  to  perdition.  Housework 
means  imprisonment,  store  and  factory  work  starvation;  for 
not  only  are  wages  low,  but  girls  who  average  eight  months 
of  work  a  year,  in  the  majority  of  industries,  are  lucky. 
Then,  too,  we  always  make  it  a  point  to  teach  anyone  who 
has  ambition  typewriting  and  stenography,  and  so  fit  them 
for  the  business  world.  One  can  also  approach  youth  if  one 
wants  any  little  pressing  matters  executed  quickly  and  at  a 
late  hour;  such  as  the  mailing  of  an  urgent  letter,  a  hurried 
trip  to  the  drug  store,  the  endurance  of  the  slight  incon- 
veniences which  often  attend  the  preparation  of  meals  for 
unexpected  friends.  Youth,  as  a  rule,  shoulders  these  little 
extra  duties  without  a  thought  or  a  murmur,  while  a  person 
of  middle  age  on  such  occasions  often  becomes  dignified, 
looks  peeved  and  sulks. 

My  search  for  an  assistant  for  Maria  has  at  times  de- 
veloped many  things  that  were  humorous  and  some  that 
were  quite  otherwise.  The  very  first  person  to  put  in  an 
appearance  at  the  street  door,  whenever  I  have  asked  appli- 
cants to  apply  in  person,  has  invariably  been  a  colored  lady, 
who  has  induced  a  friend  of  some  education  to  write  a 
letter  for  her  and  by  this  means  has  secured  a  doorstep 
interview.  When  the  colored  lady  presents  herself  she  opens 
the  conversation  thus:  "I  see  you  advertised  for  a  lady  to 
be  a  daughter  of  the  family,  and  I  cert'nly  would  like  to  be 
a  daughter  of  the  family."  Of  course  it  is  necessary  to  tell 
her  you  would  be  highly  honored  to  have  her  for  a  life- 
long relative,  but  unfortunately  you  have  so  many  relations 
you've  already  had  to  drown  three.  You  also  mention  that 
the  position  is  filled. 

The  dusky  lady  informs  you  that  she  has  come  all  the 
way  from  Yonkers  (Yonkers  in  this  case  being  situated 
somewhere  on  the  west  side  of  34th  Street,  New  York)  and 
the  carfare  will  be  ninety  cents.  This  amount  you  cheer- 
fully give  up,  so  you  may  keep  your  family  strictly  Caucasian. 
I  have  not  the  least  objection  to  a  colored  lady  wanting 
to  be  a  member  of  my  or  any  other  family,  as  it  shows  a 
worthy  ambition  on  her  part  to  want  to  get  out  of  the  ordi- 
nary rut  of  kitchen  and  attic,  but  I  do  object  when  the 
colored  lady,  who  lives  only  ten  minutes'  walk  from  my 
home,  says  she  has  come  all  the  way  from  Chicago,  and 
wants  to  charge  me  $25.00  carfare.  I  think  a  colored  lady 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  79 

who  wants  to  be  a  member  of  the  family  ought  to  be  a  little 
more  considerate  than  that.  And  if  she  insists  on  coming 
all  the  way  from  Chicago  she  might  at  least  walk,  swim  or 
fly  half  the  way,  so  as  to  make  the  carfare  less  costly. 

The  next  lady  who  appeared  on  the  scene,  and  who  had 
informed  me  over  the  phone  .  she  was  just  entering  the 
thirties,  was  not  a  minute  less  than  sixty-five  years  of  age. 
She  had  money  and  did  not  need  to  work,  and  from  the  tone 
of  my  advertisement  she  said  she  felt  that  very  little  work 
was  needed,  and  she  thought  she  might  as  well  come  along 
and  take  my  money  instead  of  spending  her  own. 

Living  on  the  second  floor  of  a  two-family  house,  it  was 
necessary  for  the  motherly  old  soul  to  negotiate  a  pair  of 
stairs.  She  was  immensely  stout  or  fleshy — I  would  prefer 
to  have  said  fat,  but  as  to  be  "decent"  you  have  to  say  limb 
and  think  leg,  so,  to  keep  from  giving  offense,  you  have  to 
say  stout  and  think  fat. 

She  did  not  give  Maria  a  chance  to  announce  her  arrival, 
and  so  I  did  not  know  she  had  made  her  appearance,  and 
could  not  imagine  what  Maria  was  bringing  or  getting  up- 
stairs. I  thought  for  a  moment  by  the  extraordinary  noise 
that  she  was  trying  to  carry  a  folding  bed  on  her  back,  but, 
not  having  ordered  any  furniture,  I  had  to  think  again. 
The  dear  old  soul,  who,  like  a  heavy  freight  train,  was 
gradually  approaching  my  eyrie,  suffered  quite  a  deal  from 
shortness  of  breath,  and  more  than  a  suspicion  of  asthma. 
The  noise  as  she  tugged  determinedly  at  the  balustrade,  while 
Maria  boosted  behind  or  hauled  in  front,  sounded  like  a 
leaky  forty-ton  boiler  getting  ready  to  burst.  Maria  had 
assured  our  wheezy  caller  that  she  was  wasting  her  energy 
and  strength,  and  also  wasting  my  time,  as  she  felt  confi- 
dent she  would  be  unable  to  fill  the  position.  Maria's  re- 
marks were  treated  with  scorn  and  the  bulky  lady  continued 
to  plunge  onward  and  upward.  As  the  hallway  was  too 
narrow  to  steer  her  into  the  back  parlor,  our  fleshy  appli- 
cant turned  sideways,  and  after  some  exertion,  which  neces- 
sitated additional  struggles  for  breath  with  wheezing  to 
match,  crashed  through  the  door  like  an  avalanche  and 
flopped  on  the  «dge  of  the  biggest  chair  in  the  room.  I  in- 
sisted that  she  take  a  heart  stimulant,  as  we  were  not  anxious 
to  have  a  visit  from  the  coroner,  so  what  with  smelling  salts 
and  spartein  tablets,  the  panting  personage,  after  a  ten- 


8o  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

minute  rest,  was  able  to  talk,  and  when  she  once  commenced 
to  talk  there  was  simply  no  stopping  her. 

"I  wanted  a  young  girl,"  said  I,  when  she  was  getting  her 
second  wind;  "one  not  over  thirty  years  of  age." 

"Young,  indeed !"  snapped  the  old  lady.  "Do  you  mean 
to  insinuate  that  I  am  not  young?  I  wish  you  to  under- 
stand I  have  only  just  passed  my  thirty-first  birthday." 

"For  the  second  or  third  time?"  I  queried.  Fortunately 
she  did  not  scent  the  sarcasm  that  was  attached  to  my 
question. 

"Yes,  sir,  I've  only  just  passed  my  thirty-first  birthday, 
though  I  admit  I  do  look  a  bit  older,  as  I've  had  considerable 
trouble  since  my  husband  died  twenty  years  ago.  Poor  dear, 
he  was  eating  beefsteak  and  a  big  piece  got  lodged  at  the 
back  of  his  Adam's  apple  and — well,  he  choked,  and  that's 
all  there  is  to  it." 

Here  the  poor  old  soul  began  to  cry,  and  Maria  walked 
over  and  patted  her  shoulder  consolingly. 

"You  should  forget  these  unpleasant  things,"  said  I,  "and 
considering  the  fact  that  you  were  married  when  you  were 
a  little  over  ten  years  of  age,  you  can't  remember  much 
about  it,  anyway." 

"Who  said  I  was  married  when  I  was  ten  years  of  age  ?" 
broke  in  the  corpulent  old  lady,  demolishing  both  Maria  and 
myself  with  a  look  that  was  most  terrifying. 

"Well,"  I  exclaimed  in  as  conciliatory  a  tone  as  possible, 
"just  now  you  said  you  were  thirty-one,  and  your  husband 
has  been  dead  twenty  years,  so  of  course  that  would  make 
you  but  ten  years  of  age  when  you  married.  Possibly  you've 
mixed  your  dates." 

Just  then  fortunately  the  bell  rang,  and  I  begged  the 
elderly  party  to  excuse  me.  But  a  terrible  thought  flashed 
across  my  mind.  Suppose  the  new  applicant,  now  at  the 
street  door,  should  be  as  fleshy  as  the  one  departing,  and  the 
ascending  and  descending  ladies  both  met  and  tried  to  pass 
each  other  on  those  apologies  for  stairs.  Great  heavens ! 
What  would  happen?  But  I  might  have  spared  myself  the 
thought.  My  visitor  was  not  ready  to  go. 

"Well,  I  like  you  both,  anyhow,"  she  exclaimed  patron- 
izingly, "and  I'll  come  to-morrow  if  it's  all  the  same  to  you. 
I  don't  cook  or  sweep  or  do  any  housework,  but  I  see  that 
this  gentleman  is  an  invalid,  and  I'm  a  great  hand  at  taking 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  81 

care  of  invalids.  I  helped  to  care  of  an  uncle  of  mine 
for  over  thirty-five  years." 

"So  you  began  to  take  care  of  him  before  you  were  born, 
did  you?"  I  remarked  in  as  quiet  and  reassuring  a  manner 
as  possible,  bracing  myself  for  the  next  explosion. 

"No,  I  didn't,  I  began  to  take  care  of  him  when  I  was 
twenty-five  years  old,"  grunted  the  aggressive  and  ponderous 
person,  who  was  feeling  anything  but  comfortable. 

"Well,  twenty-five  and  thirty-one,"  said  I,  "made  fifty-six 
when  I  went  to  school." 

The  old  lady  heard  the  bell  ringing  furiously,  and  mutter- 
ing that  she  wasn't  in  the  habit  of  being  insulted,  with 
Maria's  assistance  reached  the  door.  The  dreaded  collision 
on  the  stairs  did  not  materialize,  as  Maria  got  the  corpu- 
lent creature  down  the  steps  to  the  street  after  much  exer- 
tion. Greatly  to  our  relief,  the  mountainous  feminine,  a 
very  fury  in  skirts,  had  departed  and  we  dared  to  breathe 
again. 

I  interviewed  several  ladies  on  that  and  the  following 
day,  but  not  one  admitted  she  knew  anything  about  cooking, 
or  cared  to  do  any.  They  could  all  at  a  pinch  do  a  little 
family  sewing.  The  wage  demanded  by  these  human  dere- 
licts was  from  twenty-five  to  thirty-five  dollars  a  month. 
This  was  more  than  they  had  paid  for  help  when  they  had 
homes  of  their  own,  and  the  poor  wretches  who  had  to 
work  for  them  had  to  be  expert  cooks,  laundresses,  chamber 
maids,  nurses,  if  called  upon,  maids,  hairdressers  and  heaven 
knows  what. 

We  were  looking  for  help,  but  were  meeting  with  only  the 
impossible  and  helpless,  the  flotsam  and  jetsam  of  the  social 
sea.  Artificial  and  hopeless  indeed  must  society  be  when 
misfortune  leaves  its  frivolous  members  mere  drones  in  the 
human  hive,  incapable  of  doing  a  single  thing  to  earn  an 
honest  penny. 

There  was  just  one  more  experience  worth  recounting.  A 
very  dignified,  tall  and  stately  young  lady,  within  the  age 
limit,  walked,  or  rather  glided  in,  on  the  morning  after  our 
encounter  with  the  fat  person,  escorted  by  her  brother,  a 
youth  scarcely  of  age,  with  a  pair  of  eagle  eyes  that  flashed 
like  searchlights  in  all  directions.  I'd  had  some  conversa- 
tion over  the  phone  with  the  young  lady,  and  I  already  knew 
that,  owing  to  a  family  bereavement,  her  home  was  about 
to  be  broken  up.  Her  father,  who  had  recently  passed  on, 


'82  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  'Book 

had  been  an  Episcopal  minister.  From  her  manner,  how- 
ever, I  judged  that  he  could  have  been  nothing  less  than  an 
archbishop,  or  even  a  pope  if  the  Episcopal  church  ever 
indulges  in  such  ecclesiastical  luxuries.  The  young  lady  had 
a  decided  cast  in  one  eye,  her  manner  was  painfully  frigid, 
though  her  face  warmed  into  a  semi-sickly  smile  as  she 
greeted  me.  Apparently  her  connection  with  the  church 
and  its  lowly  head  had  not  predisposed  her  to  any  deep 
sympathy  or  great  interest  in  the  sick  and  unfortunate. 
Like  so  many  people  who  are,  or  think  they  are,  socially 
exalted,  she  had  a  habit  of  elevating  her  nose  and  closing 
her  eyes  during  the  process  for  quite  lengthy  periods,  as 
though  trying  to  shut  out  the  mediocrity  of  her  environ- 
ment. Then  again  she  would  gaze  downward  along  the 
length  of  her  elevated  nasal  organ,  much  as  a  marksman 
gazes  along  the  barrel  of  a  gun,  as  though  she  was  regard- 
ing from  the  lofty  crest  of  some  social  mountain  the  un- 
washed nonentities  of  the  earth  toiling  far  below.  I  was 
proud  to  feel  that  I  was  among  the  nonentities,  safe  upon  a 
plebeian  terra  firma,  instead  of  being  perched  on  an  elevated 
patrician  throne  where  the  odors  of  the  red  shirted  prole- 
tariat, perspiring  at  their  prosaic  tasks  of  sewer  digging, 
could  not  penetrate. 

Over  the  phone  my  visitor  had  informed  me  that  she 
knew  everything  about  housekeeping,  both  from  the  practical 
and  theoretic  point  of  view.  I  was  glad  she  had  mentioned 
this,  for  it  did  seem  comforting  to  have  something  in  com- 
mon with  such  an  awe-inspiring  personage.  "Is  it  possible," 
said  I  to  myself,  "that  this  ultra  dignified  person  with  the 
glacial  atmosphere  ever  toyed  with  such  mundane  articles 
as  a  saucepan  or  a  dish  towel?"  Such  a  thing  seemed  ab- 
surd. One  might  just  as  well  imagine  a  Vanderbilt  driving 
a  truck,  or  an  Astor  emptying  a  garbage  can. 

While  I  was  cogitating  and  ruminating  likewise — specu- 
lating on  what  accomplishments  the  lady  might  have  that 
would  be  useful  to  us,  I  noticed  that  the  brother,  who  had 
been  sitting  back  in  a  morris  chair,  had  produced  a  note 
book,  and,  pencil  in  hand,  was  devoting  half  his  time  to 
taking  down  our  conversation  in  shorthand,  and  the  other 
half  in  mentally  measuring  the  size  of  the  apartment,  and 
especially  the  mantel  and  ornamental  fireplace.  The  latter 
seemed  to  have  a  strange  and  weird  fascination  for  him. 
Twice  he  changed  his  seat,  and,  going  toward  it,  rested  his 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  83 

right  arm  upon  the  shelf,  and  then,  with  a  side  glance  at  his 
sister  and  a  queer,  suspicious  look  in  his  eyes,  tapped  on  the 
tile  and  woodwork  with  his  pencil,  ignoring  for  the  moment 
the  desultory  conversation  I  was  trying  to  keep  up  with  the 
iceberg  lady.  The  young  man,  I  noted,  was  far  from  at 
ease,  and  his  sister  also.  I  chatted  away  blithely,  mention- 
ing the  names  of  several  bishops  of  the  church  to  which 
they  belonged,  but  nothing  I  could  do  to  create  an  atmos- 
phere of  cheerfulness  and  disperse  the  clouds  of  gloom  that 
seemed  to  have  settled  on  this  strange  and  uncanny  couple 
had  any  effect.  The  presence  of  Maria,  who  exudes  cheer- 
fulness, sunshine  and  confidence,  alas !  seemed  to  have  no 
effect  in  reassuring  my  strange  and  apparently  suspicious 
visitors.  I  was  nonplussed  for  the  moment,  and  then  it  sud- 
denly flashed  across  my  mind  that  the  terrible  Wolter  case, 
in  which  a  degenerate  youth  had  murdered  a  young  girl 
stenographer  and  had  tried  to  burn  her  body  in  an  open 
fireplace  of  his  room,  hiding  the  remains  in  a  lower  portion 
of  the  chimney,  might  account  for  the  youth's  peculiar  ac- 
tions. 

This  crime,  the  crime  of  a  fiend,  had  sent  a  thrill  of  hor- 
ror through  the  entire  country.  Most  girls  out  of  employ- 
ment at  this  time  took  escorts  with  them  when  they  went  to 
apply  for  a  position,  and  then  were  ill  at  ease,  and  those  who 
had  no  escorts  preferred  to  remain  in  their  rooms  and  face 
starvation  rather  than  to  seek  work.  If  this  fear  and  dread 
had  only  haunted  the  mind  of  the  old  lady,  how  much  suffer- 
ing might  have  been  saved.  However,  she  probably  knew 
that  no  chimney  could  possibly  accommodate  her. 

Now  that  I  knew  what  was  agitating  the  minds  of  my 
visitors,  I  chuckled  inwardly.  That  the  most  confirmed 
neurasthenic  could  have  felt  any  fear  or  trepidation  in  my 
sunny,  cheery  room,  inhabited  by  one  helpless  man  and 
watched  over  by  the  gentlest,  kindest  and  most  harmless 
creature  that  ever  drew  the  breath  of  life,  seemed  preposter- 
ous. Then,  too,  in  the  tens  of  thousands  of  two-family 
houses  in  the  whole  of  New  York,  there  isn't  a  single  open 
fireplace  that  connects  with  a  chimney,  the  only  real  chimney 
being  in  the  kitchen.  In  fact,  in  all  this  type  of  residences 
fireplaces  and  connecting  chimneys  have  been  abolished.  I, 
however,  had  a  mantel  and  fireplace  erected,  a  purely  orna- 
mental affair,  plastered  tightly  against  the  wall,  with  no 
outlet  in  any  direction,  just  something  to  remind  one  of 


]Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 


those  beloved  family  hearths  on  which  the  yule  log  burned 
of  yore,  the  family  altar,  around  which  for  countless  ages 
the  young  and  old  gathered  to  talk  in  whispers,  as  the 
wintry  blast  moaned  in  the  giant  chimney,  and  watched 
the  dying  embers  as  the  night  grew  old  cast  spectral  shad- 
ows o'er  the  time-worn  floor.  If  anyone  had  tried  to  have 
hidden  the  big  toe  of  a  mosquito  behind  my  chimney,  they 
would  have  found  at  least  half  of  it  resting  on  the  middle 
of  the  dining-room  table  of  the  family  next  door,  for  in 
the  modern  two-family  house  it  is  impossible  to  hide  even 
a  blush,  unless  you  descend  to  the  cellar  and  bury  yourself 
in  the  coals. 

"You  have  a  chimney,  I  see,"  said  the  young  man,  darting 
a  glance  at  me  which  nearly  transfixed  me  to  the  wall. 

"Yes,"  I  replied  cheerfully;  "quite  capacious,  too;  nice 
and  deep,  a  fine  place  to  hide  one's  family  skeletons." 

At  this  sally  of  mine  the  aristocratic  lady  nearly  fell  out  of 
her  chair,  while  her  brother  sank  on  the  arm  of  his,  as  if 
his  knee  joints  had  snapped. 

"Would  you  or  your  sister  like  a  glass  of  water  or  some 
restoratives?"  said  I,  holding  out  my  smelling  salts.  "You 
don't  seem  very  well,  would  you  like  me  to  phone  for  a 
doctor  ?" 

"Oh,  thank  you;  there  is  nothing  the  matter,"  said  the 
patrician  miss,  recovering  her  speech  with  an  effort. 

"I  am  glad  of  that,  as  my  chimney  seems  to  be  of  intense 
interest  to  your  brother,"  I  replied;  "if  he  would  like  to  make 
a  personal  inspection  of  it,  I  should  feel  quite  flattered,  as 
it's  an  idea  of  my  own,  specially  designed  for  decorative  and 
other  purposes." 

This  time  I  thought  both  brother  and  sister  would  have 
disappeared  through  the  floor,  but  I  recalled  them  to  earth 
by  saying  somewhat  sharply:  "You  came  here,  madam,  in 
answer  to  my  advertisement.  My  time  is  somewhat  limited, 
and,  if  you  will  kindly  tell  me  exactly  what  your  capabilities 
are  in  the  housekeeping  line,  I  shall  feel  exceedingly 
obliged." 

My  lady  visitor  was  at  last  talking  business.  If  my  refer- 
ences were  quite  satisfactory,  she  would  consider  the  matter, 
and  in  a  few  days  would  let  me  know  whether  she  would 
or  not  accept  the  position.  (The  few  days  of  course  would 
give  her  an  opportunity  to  send  the  police,  an  architect,  a 
builder,  and  a  couple  of  stone  masons  to  examine  my  mantel 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  85 

and  the  chimney  that  didn't  exist.)  Did  she  cook?  Yes, 
she  always  superintended  the  preparation  of  father's  soup. 
But,  as  her  skill  in  this  direction  was  no  longer  needed  by 
father,  she  was  willing  to  superintend  the  preparation  of  soup 
for  others,  at  a  figure  which  she  was  not  prepared  to  mention 
just  at  present,  but  which  she  would  consider  and  apprise  me 
of  later,  when  she  had  traced  my  genealogical  tree  back  to 
Adam  and  Eve,  and  made  me  sign  a  contract  to  live  in  a 
tent,  where  by  no  possibility  could  a  fireplace  obtrude  itself 
on  the  serenity  of  her  thoughts. 

Here  the  frigid  brother  demanded  references  and  more 
references.  I  produced  numbers  of  newspapers,  the  greatest 
publications  of  the  United  States,  which  have  published  illus- 
trated accounts  of  my  life  and  work.  These  were  brushed 
aside.  Would  I  give  the  name  of  my  doctor?  "Which," 
said  I,  "you  see,  I  have  six  or  eight." 

The  thing  had  become  too  much  of  a  joke,  I  was  getting 
tired,  bored,  annoyed,  and  determined  to  get  rid  of  my  in- 
quisitors without  delay.  They  looked  at  each  other,  shaking 
their  heads  suspiciously. 

"I  have  my  regular  physician,  my  irregular  physician,  my 
day  and  night  surgeon  (and  here  I  looked  pointedly  at  the 
mantelpiece)  and  three  expert  alienists,  specialists  in  mental 
diseases,  and  these  my  nurse  phones  for  when  I  have  a  bad 
spell  coming  on  and  am  becoming  temporarily  violent  and 
insane."  Here  I  waved  my  hands  in  the  air  and  rolled  my 
eyes  wildly.  "I  feel  I'm  going  to  have  a  fit  right  now.  Nurse, 
phone  Dr.  Rollings,  and  bring  the  strait  jacket."  It  was 
unnecessary  to  say  another  word.  The  notebook  snapped ;  the 
frigid  fraternity  (the  feminine  half  of  which  was  gazing  in 
a  dozen  directions  at  once)  disappeared  through  the  door 
like  a  shot  from  a  gun,  happily  never  to  return. 

This  last  experience  forced  me  to  a  decision  at  once.  I  was 
tired  of  impossible  people,  genteel  incompetents,  pedigreed 
posturers,  and  all  that  unhappily  large  class  of  women  who 
have  seen  better  days  and  have  used  those  days  in  social 
frivolities,  learning  nothing,  viewing  life  from  entirely  false 
angles,  having  no  God  but  pleasure,  no  appreciation  of  the 
value  of  time  or  money,  no  understanding  of  duty,  regarding 
toil  and  honest  effort  with  contempt,  and  utterly  unable  when 
cast  by  the  waves  of  adversity  on  the  bleak  shores  of  penury 
to  even  boil  water  on  a  red-hot  stove.  Sad  it  is  to  contem- 
plate this  genteel  human  driftwood,  swept  by  misfortune 


86  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

from  its  gilded  anchorage  in  the  pathways  of  pleasure  into 
the  surging  sea  of  human  endeavor,  where  men  and  women 
must  battle  for  existence,  the  strong  and  efficient  surviving, 

,  the  weak  and  inefficient  sinking  never  to  rise  again. 

f  I  could  waste  no  more  time.  I  would  phone  for  Lily;  in 
fact,  it  was  my  duty  to  phone  for  Lily.  She  was  a  profes- 
sional houseworker,  a  girl  probably  who  had  had  few  oppor- 
tunities in  life,  and  it  was  our  duty  to  help  her,  because  she 
would  appreciate  help  and  profit  by  it.  The  many  others 
we  had  interviewed  had  had  opportunities  and  cast  them 
aside.  It  was  Thursday.  I  phoned  to  the  agency,  and  was 
informed  that  Lily  would  make  her  appearance  in  the  after- 
noon, when  we  could  arrange  matters  with  her,  and  she 
would  be  ready  to  come  to  work  on  the  following  Monday. 
Lily  in  due  time  appeared.  There  were  two  Lilys,  I  discov- 
ered, the  disengaged  and  the  engaged  Lily.  The  disengaged 
Lily  was  a  girl  of  the  "Yes,  ma'am,"  "No,  ma'am"  kind,  quiet, 
nay,  even  subdued,  and  one  might  say  almost  cowed.  She 
spoke  in  a  minor  key  that  suggested  considerable  experience 
with  the  somber  and  drab  side  of  life,  all  of  which  had 
calmed  her  spirit  and  tempered  the  exuberance  of  youth  with 
the  premature  melancholy  of  maturer  years.  The  employ- 
ment agency  had  grossly  overrated  Lily's  charms  and  abili- 
ties. They  had  described  her  as  being  ladylike,  refined  and 
neat,  qualities  she  never  possessed  and  would  scorn  to  pos- 
sess. She  was  typical  of  New  York,  an  East  Sider  and  of  the 
roughest  and  toughest  type.  She  might  have  had  a  figure 
if  anything  under  heaven  could  have  kept  her  in  shape.  She, 
however,  seemed  to  have  been  born  on  the  bias,  and,  no 
matter  from  what  angle  you  viewed  her,  she  seemed  to 
sag  badly  as  though  dissolution,  not  alone  of  clothes,  but 
of  flesh,  was  not  only  imminent  but  inevitable.  Lily  was  not 

tat  all  bad-looking,  rather  good-looking  in  fact,  and  she  was, 

/above  all,  the  personification  of  good  nature.  Her  mouth 
was  not  only  large,  but  extensive ;  fortunately  her  teeth  were 
superb,  or  would  be  as  soon  as  a  tooth  brush  could  remove 
from  them  the  accumulated  debris  of  twenty  years.  She  was 
above  medium  height,  but  what  her  real  height  was  she  didn't 
know,  and  it  was  impossible  to  tell,  as,  instead  of  walking 
on  the  soles  of  her  shoes,  she  usually  preferred  to  propel 
herself  along  on  the  sides  of  them.  This  was  from  choice, 
and  not  from  necessity.  Lily's  father  was  dead.  "I'se  two 
brothers,"  she  said,  "but  they  ain't  no  good,  and  Gustave  and 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  87 

me  has  to  lick  'em  every  once  in  a  while  to  make  'em  be- 
have." 

"Who's  Gustave?"  I  inquired,  with  considerable  interest. 

"Gus  is  me  beau,"  explained  Lily,  with  quiet  unconcern. 
"Me  and  him  is  engaged.  He's  in  the  navy,  and  he's  away 
up.  He's  a  Swede.  Theyse  good  people,  and  Gus,  he  saves 
his  money  and  don't  drink,  only  when  we  have  a  little  dance 
or  a  racket,  and  then  he  don't  drink  nothin'  to  hoit  him, 
only  soft  stuff.  S'pose  youse  ain't  got  no  objection  to  Gus 
callin'  to  take  me  out  nights." 

"Only  too  delighted,  Lily,"  I  replied;  "when  your  work 
is  done  you've  as  much  right  to  go  out  as  anyone,  and  there 
is  no  necessity  for  keeping  you  in  the  house.  My  religion  is 
to  treat  everyone  as  I'd  have  them  treat  me." 

"Yes,  that's  the  religion  pastor  teaches  us  at  our  church." 

"Glad  to  know  you  go  to  church,  Lily,"  said  I  approvingly, 
as  she  tried  to  push  her  somewhat  bedraggled  skirts  in  the 
direction  of  shoes  that  she  apparently  realized  as  much  as  I 
did  would  look  all  the  better  for  being  hidden,  "and  you 
think  you  would  like  to  come  and  join  the  family?" 

"I  certainly  would,  if  there  ain't  no  laundry,  and  no  kids 
to  throw  things  at  youse,  and  no  late  blow-outs  with  six  or 
eight  courses,  for  I  ain't  no  French  chief,  but  I  can  put  up 
a  fair  meal  if  folkses  give  me  the  right  class  of  stuff  and 
don't  hurry  me  too  much  when  I'se  fixin'  it  for  the  table. 
The  trouble  is  what  suits  some  don't  suit  t'others.  Theyse 
all  got  different  tastes,  and  theyse  some  as  can't  be  pleased, 
no  matter  what  youse  cooks  for  'em.  Only  trouble  with  me, 
I'se  too  good-hearted;  I  always  gives  'em  too  much  for  their 
money." 

"Well,  Lily,  you  be  here  Monday  morning  promptly  at 
half-past  eight,"  said  I  encouragingly,  "and  this  lady  will 
show  you  where  all  the  articles  of  your  profession  are  to  be 
found,  and,  as  we  don't  have  laundry  in  the  house,  you  will 
be  able  to  go  out  whenever  your  services  are  not  needed, 
and  that  will  probably  be  every  afternoon  and  evening,  and 
your  wages  will  be  twenty  dollars  a  month." 

"That  will  suit  me,"  said  Lily;  "I  always  likes  to  go  some- 
where where  I'se  treated  as  one  of  the  fam'ly,  and  I  ain't 
one  of  them  as  is  common  and  ain't  got  no  idees  'bout  nothin'. 
Mother  says  I  won't  never  be  nobody,  but  I'se  goin'  to  show 
her.  You  just  wait  and  see."  And  here  Lily  smiled  her 
yard-wide  smile  and  shook  hands  with  us  both.  In  her  grace- 


88  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

i 

ful  retreat  to  the  door  we  were  horrified  to  find  a  startling 
hiatus  in  her  apparel.  Her  shirtwaist,  only  the  top  and  bot- 
tom buttons  of  which  were  fastened,  was  industriously  en- 
deavoring to  climb  up  her  back,  and  it  had  succeeded  in 
getting  almost  a  third  of  the  way  up  to  her  neck.  Her  skirt, 
which  for  some  reason  had  apparently  become  discouraged, 
was  working  its  way  downward  in  a  manner  truly  alarming. 
It  was,  fortunately  for  Lily,  rather  a  dull  and  cloudy  day, 
and  her  appearance,  though  it  had  not  suggested  Fifth  Ave- 
nue, had  not  been  utterly  discouraging.  The  shirtwaist  was 
at  least  clean,  and  a  careful  mother  had  apparently  seen  to 
the  polishing  of  Lily's  hands  and  face,  so  no  fault  could  be 
found  with  them.  On  the  front  view  Lily  just  managed  to 
get  by,  but,  oh,  that  rear  view!  I  nearly  collapsed.  Maria 
escorted  the  new  addition  to  our  family  to  the  door,  where  a 
whispered  conversation  took  place,  with  the  result  that,  for 
this  time  at  least,  Lily  was  able  to  emerge  on  the  street  with- 
out causing  a  riot. 

Lily  had  departed;  Maria  looked  at  me,  and  I  looked  at 
Maria.  Not  a  word  escaped  our  lips.  For  the  moment  we 
were  entirely  too  full  for  utterance.  Maria  broke  the  si- 
lence by  exclaiming :  "Well,  and  what  do  you  think  you  are 
going  to  do  with  her?" 

I  wanted  to  say,  take  her  to  the  North  Pole  and  lose  her, 
but  Maria  was  sufficiently  discouraged  without  my  adding 
to  the  general  gloom. 

"She's  a  rough  diamond,"  said  I,  "and  maybe  with  polish- 
ing, instruction,  advice  and  guidance  we  can  make  her  really 
efficient,  and  possibly  some  day  fairly  presentable."  We  both 
realized  the  magnitude  of  the  task,  but  felt  that  the  cause 
was  worthy  of  the  effort,  and,  rough  diamond  though  Lily 
was,  she  was  preferable  to  the  parasitical  ex-plutocrats  we 
had  interviewed  hitherto. 

Monday  morning  arrived.  Breathlessly  we  waited  the 
comuig  of  Lily.  She  did  not  appear  at  the  appointed  time, 
and  even  at  eleven  o'clock  there  was  not  a  sign  of  the  dia- 
mond we  had  determined  to  polish.  I  was  worried  and  called 
up  the  agency  and  addressed  the  proprietress  thus : 

"That  cultured  duchess  of  yours,"  said  I,  "the  lady  of  bril- 
liant attainments  that  you  recommended  to  us,  and  for  which 
service  you  have  already  received  your  fee  of  two  dollars, 
has  failed  to  put  in  an  appearance.  If  she  isn't  here  within 
half  an  hour,  you  will  kindly  send  me  another  culinary  artist 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  89 

and  dust  demolisher,  or  return  the  money  paid  by  me,  but 
don't  make  her  quite  as  refined  and  ladylike  as  this  speci- 
men. We  want  a  girl  for  work,  not  a  duchess  for  court 
functions  and  pink  teas." 

"Lily  will  surely  be  there,"  came  back  the  answer;  "Lily 
never  disappoints.  A  messenger  will  be  sent  to  her  home 
immediately  to  see  what  has  detained  her." 

The  hour  of  noon  struck,  still  no  Lily.  Maria  from  the 
window  was  watching  eagerly  for  her  appearance.  At  last 
the  clock  struck  the  half  hour,  and  she  quite  excitedly  ex- 
claimed : 

"Here  she  is  at  last."  And  there  she  was  sure  enough, 
staggering  along  with  a  suitcase  and  two  very  unmanage- 
able bundles  done  up  in  brown  paper.  Suddenly  she  stopped. 
Had  she  forgotten  the  number  of  the  house,  or  come  to  a 
quick  decision  to  return  home?  Both  of  our  conjectures 
were  incorrect.  Lily's  right  hand  was  raised  high  in  the  air, 
soon  her  left  one  followed.  She  had  espied  Maria  at  the 
window,  and  being  unable  to  restrain  her  emotion  was  wav- 
ing a  friendly  recognition  and  greeting  from  the  sidewalk, 
some  fifty  yards  away.  This  demonstration  of  appreciation 
and  good  feeling  having  worn  itself  to  a  finish,  Lily  picked 
up  her  baggage  and  siege  train,  and,  with  a  smile  that  caused 
even  her  ears  to  vibrate  violently,  her  cheeks  to  pucker,  her 
eyes  to  almost  disappear,  she  bore  down  upon  our  residence, 
and  soon  in  all  her  radiant  glory  was  standing  before  us. 

She  dropped  her  baggage  on  the  floor,  scattered  her  bun- 
dles on  the  table,  and  then  subsided  in  a  big  leather  fireside 
chair;  stretched  out  her  capacious  feet,  which  seemed  to 
have  grown  at  least  six  inches  since  we  had  gazed  upon  them 
last,  drew  forth  a  harpoon  that  held  a  dilapidated  hat  to  a 
still  more  dilapidated  head  of  uncombed  hair,  jabbed  the 
harpoon  through  the  crown  of  her  chapeau,  in  which  was 
stuck  a  feather  which  looked  as  if  it  had  been  rescued  from 
a  rag  bag,  and  dropped  it  on  the  floor  by  her  side.  Lily 
was  comfortable  at  last,  and  with  a  smile  that  put  all  previ- 
ous smiles  to  the  blush  said: 

"Guess  youse  thought  I'se  wasn't  comin',  didn't  youse? 
Well,  take  a  tip  from  Lily ;  never  go  early  to  a  job,  or  theyse 
thinks  youse  wants  to  woik.  I  was  in  two  minds  whether 
to  come  or  not.  Oh,  gee,  but  I'se  been  sick.  I  went  to  a 
racket  with  Gus  Saturday  night,  and  I  swallowed  a  whole  lot 
of  junk,  soft-shell  crabs  and  ice  cream,  and,  say,  if  I  ain't 


90  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

been  sick,  my  name  ain't  Lily  Jurgensen.  The  doctor  said  I 
had  potmaine  poisonin',  but  I  didn't  eat  no  pots,  but  I  was 
poisoned  some,  and  that's  no  lie.  Felt  as  if  I  had  a  merry- 
go-round  loose  inside  me.  Thought  I'd  have  to  come  home 
in  a  amberlance.  Somethin'  always  happens  when  I  go  to 
a  racket.  Say,  I  feel  as  empty  as  a  barrel  without  no  slats. 
Don't  youse  people  want  youse  eats.  I'se  gettin'  hungry, 
feel  like  I  could  eat  a  boiled  dog.  I'se  all  over  me  potmaine 
poison  now.  Don't  youse  think  we'd  better  eat?"  and  here 
Lily  snapped  her  teeth  and  gazed  at  us  both  as  though  un-  . 
decided  as  to  which  would  make  the  best  meal. 

"Now,  Lily,"  said  I,  in  a  tone  which  I  occasionally  use, 
a  loud,  deep-chested  theatrical  tone  of  stern  authority  and 
command  peculiar  to  the  drill  sergeant  or  a  stage  tragedian, 
"before  you  talk  dinner  there  is  one  thing  I  wish  you  to  do." 
(Lily  had  jumped  from  her  chair  and  was  standing  erect  as 
a  soldier  on  parade.)  "Nature  has  provided  you  with  some 
excellent  teeth." 

"Yes,"  broke  in  Lily,  "me  brother  says  I'se  got  a  mouthful 
of  good  china,  and  I  can  bite  more  meat  off  a  ham  bone  in 
a  minute  than  a  prize  dog  could  in  a  year." 

"Well,  while  you're  in  this  house,  you  keep  that  face  china 
clean.  You  wash  your  teeth  night  and  morning,  under- 
stand?" Here  I  pointed  my  forefinger  straight  at  her  to  em- 
phasize my  command.  Lily  begged  me  not  to  do  it  again,  as 
it  might  go  off.  "I'm  in  dead  earnest,"  I  cried. 

"But  I  ain't  got  no  tooth  brush  nor  no  stuff  to  clean  'em 
with,"  was  her  whimpering  reply. 

"Go  to  the  druggist,"  I  said  at  once,  "Mr.  B ,  at  the 

corner  of  the  first  block  to  your  left  on  G Avenue,  and 

tell  him  to  give  you  a  good  tooth  brush  and  powder,  and 
charge  it  to  me,  and  get  back  as  quickly  as  possible  and  clean 
your  teeth." 

Lily  disappeared  in  a  flash,  leaving  her  personal  posses- 
sions, hat  included,  where  she  had  dropped  them  when  first 
entering  the  room.  I  scarcely  dared  look  Maria  in  the  face. 
Fortunately  there  was  a  cold  joint  in  the  house,  and  all  Lily 
had  to  do  in  the  way  of  preparing  a  dinner  (for  we  found  it 
most  convenient  to  dine  in  the  middle  of  the  day)  was  to 
warm  some  soup,  boil  a  few  potatoes  and  fix  a  salad.  Dessert 
was  provided  for.  Fortunate  indeed  it  was  that  Lily  was 
called  upon  no  further  than  this  to  give  evidence  of  her 
culinary  skill  in  the  first  meal.  She  quickly  returned,  rushed 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  91 

to  the  bathroom,  and  with  some  slight  instruction  from 
Maria,  who  feared  Lily  might  brush  her  shoes  instead  of  her 
teeth,  polished  her  molars  to  dazzling  whiteness.  The  trans- 
formation delighted  her,  and  she  rushed  into  my  room,  stum- 
bling over  her  suit  case  and  nearly  falling  headlong  in  her 
hurry  to  demonstrate  the  success  of  her  experiment.  The 
dental  operation  improved  her  appearance  immensely,  for, 
now  Lily  had  entered  upon  her  duties  and  become  one  of 
the  family,  it  was  evident  that  her  smile  was  perennial,  the 
smile  that  would  not  come  off,  and  that  kept  her  teeth  con- 
stantly exposed. 

Maria's  confidence  in  Lily's  ability  to  even  boil  a  potato 
was  not  overgreat.  She  showed  her  the  mechanism  of  the 
gas  stove,  and  it  is  well  that  she  did,  for  Lily  informed  Maria 
confidentially  that  she  and  one  of  them  things  (the  gas  stove) 
had  recently  had  some  kind  of  a  disagreement,  and  stove 
and  Lily  had  had  a  race  through  the  window  with  a  portion 
of  the  kitchen  in  hot  pursuit,  and  had  landed  in  fortunately 
nothing  more  dangerous  than  a  flower  bed  in  a  back  garden. 
"I  don't  know  which  of  us  got  there  foist,  me  or  the  stove," 
said  Lily,  "but  it  was  some  race,  believe  me.  See  that  scar 
under  me  ear?  That's  where  the  gas  stove  scraped  its  foot 
against  me  neck.  I  was  green  about  them  things  in  them 
days,  but  they  can't  fool  me  now.  Gas  stoves  has  to  behave 
when  I'se  around." 

"You  will  have  to  be  awfully  careful,"  said  Maria,  "with 
an  invalid  in  the  house.  His  life  is  in  your  hands." 

"Oh !  I  noised  me  father;  he  was  a  invalid  three  months, 
and  I  never  blowed  him  through  no  winders.  Say,  if  I'd 
been  in  bed  as  long  as  that  man  in  the  front  room,  I'd  go 
buy  a  gas  stove  and  sit  on  it  till  it  blowed  up.  I'se  got  to 
have  a  racket  every  few  days,  or  I'd  blow  up.  They  ain't  no 
bed  that  can  hold  me,  not  even  a  foldin'  bed  with  the  doors 
locked." 

After  this  copious  flow  of  verbal  comment,  Lily  conde- 
scended to  peel  one  potato,  without  saying  one  word,  while 
Maria  deftly  prepared  the  rest  of  the  "fixings"  and  set  the 
table  for  the  midday  meal.  While  Maria  was  attending  to 
the  table,  Lily  was  soliloquizing  the  entire  time.  She  always 
seemed  to  have  an  invisible  audience,  to  which  she  mono- 
logued  all  day  and  snored  at  all  night.  Just  before  Lily  ap- 
peared with  the  potatoes,  which  with  considerable  coaching 
and  some  help  from  Maria  she  had  succeeded  in  cooking,  I 


92  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

caught  Maria's  eye  as  she  busied  herself  about  the  table, 
and  that  look  boded  no  good  to  me,  for  I  knew  what  it  meant. 
Lily  was  a  hopeless  case,  and  Maria  wanted  then  and  there, 
not  to  politely  conduct  her  to  the  door,  but  to  throw  her  head 
foremost  out  of  the  window;  that,  I  believe,  being  a  per- 
fectly proper  way  of  disposing  of  exasperatingly  incompe- 
tent people.  Maria,  as  was  customary,  brought  me  my  din- 
ner tray.  This  service  rendered,  she  took  her  place  at  the 
dinner  table,  with  Lily  at  her  side. 

"Gee,  but  I'se  hungry !"  exclaimed  Lily,  almost  too  weak 
for  speech,  as  Maria  loaded  her  plate  until  it  could  hold  no 
more.  "I  had  one  hole  that  wanted  fillin'  when  I  came  an 
hour  ago;  now  I  guess  I'se  got  a  dozen.  Say,  I'se  goin'  to 
eat  youse  out  of  house  and  home.  Well,  I'se  glad  I'se  one  of 
the  fam'ly,  anyhow.  I'se  tired  of  eatin'  in  kitchens;  don't  get 
no  chance  to  eat,  anyway.  When  the  cockroaches  ain't  fight- 
in'  to  see  whether  they  has  the  grub,  or  youse,  the  misses  is 
a-ringin'  and  a-ringin'  the  bell,  and  yellin':  Lily,  youse  for- 
gotten that,  or  Lily,  youse  forgotten  this,  and  Lily,  youse  for- 
got the  other  thing;  Lily,  they  ain't  no  bread;  Lily,  they  ain't 
no  water;  Lily,  they  ain't  no  butter,  no  salt,  no  meat,  no 
nothin'.  It's  a  wonder  they  don't  say,  Lily,  they  ain't  no  table.' 
I  ain't  got  no  head  like  no  preacher  man;  if  I  had,  I  wouldn't 
be  in  nobody's  kitchen  at  twenty  dollars  a  month,  and  up 
at  five  o'clock  in  the  mornin'  doin'  a  long  day's  woik,  just 
when  theys  toinin'  over  to  get  theyse  beauty  sleep  and  dream- 
in'  'bout  automobile  rides,  forty-dollar  hats  and  gold-handled 
powder  puffs,"  and  here  Lily,  who  had  been  vigorously 
pushing  assorted  edibles  into  various  sections  of  her  mouth, 
spearing  the  individual  potatoes  with  her  fork  from  the  vege- 
table dish,  and  respearing  the  numerous  fragments,  which 
broke  en  route  and  scattered  in  all  directions  over  the  table- 
cloth, suddenly  dropped  her  knife  and  fork  on  her  plate, 
banged  her  elbows  on  the  table,  dropped  her  head  in  her 
hands  and  wept  hysterically. 

"I'se  too  good  to  people  I  is;  I  treats  folks  right  I  does. 
(Sob,  sob.)  Wherever  I  goes  they  composes  on  me.  They 
tells  me  theys  only  got  one  kid,  and,  'fore  I'se  been  there  half 
a  day,  theys  sixteen  of  'em  toins  up.  (Sniff,  sniff.)  Ain't 
that  composin'  on  a  poor  goil?  Ingage  you  for  a  private 
fam'ly,  then  find  youse  hit  a  boardin'  house,  a  restaurant  or 
a  orphants'  home;  meals  all  day,  meals  all  night,  and  it's, 
iLily,  will  youse  mind  the  baby,  and,  Lily,  will  youse  see  John- 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  'Book  93!" 

nie  don't  fall  out  of  the  window,  and  see  George  don't  get 
his  papa's  razor  and  cut  his  head  off,  and,  Lily,  will  youse 
button  me  up  the  back,  and,  Lily,  at  four  o'clock  will  you  see 
baby  gets  his  bottle,  and,  Lily,  would  youse  mind  darnin' 
them  half  dozen  pair  of  sox,  and  I'll  be  so  much  obliged, 
Lily;  I'll  let  youse  have  a  half  day  off  next  Fourth  of  July, 
and  youse  can  go  home  Christmas  for  half  an  hour  after  you 
get  the  dinner  things  washed — and  that's  ten  o'clock  at  night, 
and  it's,  Lily,  will  you  see  Irene  takes  her  cod  liver  oil  at 
four  o'clock,  as  the  doctor  says  it  must  be  took  regular,  and, 
Lily,  will  you  take  Mary's  shoes  around  to  the  Eyetalian's 
to  be  half-soled  and  heeled,  and  lock  all  the  children  in  the 
cellar  while  youse  is  gone,  so  they  can't  fall  out  of  the  win- 
ders, and  if  they  fire  coal  at  you  I'll  tell  Mr.  Jones  when  he 
comes  home  and  he'll  give  them  a  whippin',  and,  oh,  yes, 
don't  forget  to  iron  that  waist  of  mine,  as  I  want  to  wear 
it  to  Mrs.  Brown's  deception  to-morrow.  Now,  ain't  that 
composin'  on  a  poor  goil  ?  And  when  I  does  my  best  in  less 
than  three  days  they  says,  Lily,  you  pack  youse  trunk  and 
beat  it !  I  ain't  got  no  million  hands  so  I  can  be  holdin' 
Johnnie  from  fallin'  out  the  winder  on  the  top  floor  and 
Willie  from  puttin'  the  cat  in  the  furnace  in  the  cellar,  and 
dopin'  out  cod  liver  oil  in  the  dinin'  room,  and  ironin'  a  waist 
in  the  kitchen,  and  tellin'  the  landlord  at  the  front  door  for 
the  twentieth  time  that  the  misses  will  take  the  rent  around 
in  a  week's  time,  and  doin'  it  all  at  once.  People  ain't  got  no 
reasonableness,  they  ain't  reasonablefied."  Lily  stopped,  ex- 
hausted by  her  lengthy  monologue,  and,  spearing  her  eighth 
potato  and  drying  her  eyes  with  the  back  of  her  disengaged 
hand,  remarked  with  a  sigh  of  relief:  "I'se  glad  I'se  struck 
a  cinch  this  time ;  no  kids,  no  laundry,  no  wife  to  kick  'cause 
I'se  better  lookin'  than  she  is,  and  no  husband  to  wink  and 
try  to  floit  with  me,  no  bein'  stuck  in  the  kitchen,  but  a 
regular  daughter  of  the  fam'ly.  I'll  pinch  myself  I  guess 
and  see  if  I  ain't  a-dreamin'." 

Lily  was  so  full  of  potatoes  and  emotion  that  it  was  not 
until  she  had  made  seven  distinct  attempts  to  pinch  herself 
that  she  found  a  suitable  place ;  having  by  this  method  discov- 
ered that  she  was  alive  and  not  dreaming,  she  threw  her- 
self back  in  her  chair,  clasped  her  hands  at  the  back  of  her 
head,  pushed  out  her  feet  with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction,  and 
waited  for  Maria  to  bring  her  her  dessert.  This  devoured, 
Lily  with  a  sigh  of  relief  picked  up  her  plate  and  strode  ma- 


"94  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  'Book 

jestically  to  the  kitchen,  leaving  Maria  to  remove  the  re- 
mainder of  the  dishes. 

The  day  following  the  reception  of  Lily  into  the  bosom  of 
our  family,  Maria,  after  superintending  the  preparation  of 
breakfast,  attended  to  her  duties,  and  having  impressed  on 
Lily  the  enormous  responsibility  that  rested  on  her  shoulders, 
and  also  having  been  assured  by  Lily  that  she  knew  better 
than  anyone  in  the  United  States  how  to  make  a  lamb  stew, 
departed  to  do  the  daily  marketing  and  to  take  a  constitu-J 
tional  in  the  park,  and  get  an  airing  before  dinner  time.  I  had' 
not  been  alone  a  few  minutes  ere  Lily  appeared.  Maria  had 
manicured  her  hair  for  her  in  the  early  morning  hours,  pre- 
sented her  with  a  clean  apron,  and  given  her  some  ideas 
about  keeping  an  orderly  coiffure.  Lily  was  now,  with  the 
exception  of  her  shoes,  almost  presentable.  Breakfast  had 
gone  along  fairly  well,  except  that  Lily  at  the  conclusion  had 
jumped  up  to  fry  a  third  egg,  as  two  did  not  appease  her  ap- 
petite, and  in  bringing  it  into  the  room  had  paused  to  address 
a  remark  to  me,  and,  forgetting  the  egg  had  allowed  it  to 
slide  to  the  floor.  I  did  not  mind  the  loss  of  the  egg  but  I 
did  mind  the  condition  of  the  rug.  Lily  assured  us,  how- 
ever, that  she  had  gained  half  her  muscle  in  scouring  stains 
from  rugs  and  carpets,  and,  from  lack  of  ability  to  hold  any- 
thing in  her  hands  for  more  than  three  seconds,  we  did  not 
deem  it  necessary  to  question  her  veracity  on  this  point. 

Lily  now  came  in  and  swept  the  rug,  or,  rather,  violently 
pushed  the  carpet  sweeper  against  the  legs  of  every  article  of 
furniture  that  came  within  her  range,  my  bed  nearly  turning 
a  somersault  in  the  operation.  A  teakwood  taboret,  which 
was  supporting  a  palm  incased  in  a  jardiniere,  capsized,  but 
fortunately  jardiniere  and  palm  fell  onto  the  seat  of  a  chair. 
The  leg  of  a  table  received  such  a  violent  blow  that  the  tele- 
phone which  stood  upon  it  leaped  in  the  air  and  found  a 
resting  place  on  my  bed,  falling  into  my  arms.  The  receiver 
of  course  dropped  off,  and  "Central"  began  screaming  imme- 
diately: "Number,  please."  "Don't  worry,  Central,"  said  I 
soothingly ;  "it's  only  a  cyclone  that  has  struck  the  house." 

Lily's  exhibition  of  sudden  and  terrific  energy  had  stag- 
gered me  and  also  staggered  the  furniture.  "Woman,"  I 
shouted,  "if  you  turn  loose  like  that  again,  I'll  phone  for  the 
police." 

"What's  the  matter?  Don't  youse  want  the  room  swept?" 
cried  Lily,  astonished  at  my  interruption. 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  'Book  95 

"Why  did  you  turn  loose  in  that  fashion?"  I  inquired  an- 
grily. 

"Well,  youse  see,"  she  rejoined,  by  way  of  explanation,  "I 
hates  sweepin'.  If  I  does  it  slow,  I  goes  to  sleep  over  it,  and 
if  it  don't  get  done  quick  it  don't  get  done  at  all,  see?  I  was 
always  a  foist-class  cook,  but  I  never  did  win  no  medals  at 
sweepin'.  When  I  gets  a  sweeper  in  me  hand  I  jest  feels  the 
fightin'  blood  stirrin'  in  me,  and  I  wants  to  bang  it  down 
on  the  head  of  the  guy  what  invented  dust." 

"Now,  Lily  Jurgensen,  remember  this,"  said  I,  summoning 
all  the  dignity  and  severity  that  I  could  command;  "this  is  a 
family  of  civilized  people,  and  not  Indians.  If  you  have  any 
brains  in  that  head  of  yours,  I  wish  you  to  exercise  them 
and  make  the  best  use  of  them.  If  you  were  just  a  plain  idiot, 
I'd  summon  an  ambulance,  and  see  that  you  were  removed  to 
the  place  where  idiots  belong.  Now,  just  attend  to  your 
work,  and  do  it  to  the  best  of  your  ability,  or  your  reign  as  a 
member  of  this  family  will  come  to  an  immediate  conclu- 
sion." 

Lily  was  more  than  staggered,  more  than  awed;  she  was 
stunned.  Under  her  breath  she  murmured  meekly,  "Yes, 
sir,"  completed  her  cleaning,  viciously  slapping  with  her  dus- 
ter the  heavier  pieces,  knocking  down  one  picture  only,  and 
then  faded  from  the  room. 

I  resumed  my  work  and  dismissed  Lily  from  my  thoughts. 

An  extraordinary  delicious  and  savory  odor  now  began 
floating  in  from  the  kitchen,  permeating  the  whole  apart- 
ment. It  was  Lily  preparing  a  lamb  stew.  But  no  lamb 
stew  ever  emitted  an  odor  of  that  kind.  We  had  ordered  no 
roast,  but  the  odor  suggested  one.  Knowing  a  little  of  Lily's 
peculiarities,  I  thought  best  to  call  her,  and  was  assured  that 
everything  was  all  right  except  that,  instead  of  making  the 
stew  Irish  fashion,  she  was  making  it  Norwegian  style, 
that  being  infinitely  the  better  way,  according  to  Lily. 

"Now,  don't  youse  worry  about  that  stoo,"  said  she  re- 
assuringly; "I'se  made  hundreds  of  'em,  and  theys  the  best 
stoos  that  ever  got  past  your  teeth." 

I  was  not  in  a  mood,  and  neither  was  I  in  a  position  to 
contradict  a  cook,  who,  if  appetizing  odors  have  anything  to 
do  with  it.  had  every  chef  in  the  country  lashed  to  the  mast. 
A  few  minutes  later  Maria  made  her  appearance,  and,  walk- 
ing to  my  bedside,  said  in  a  whisper:  "Whatever  is  she 
cooking  ?" 


96  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

"You'd  better  go  and  investigate,"  said  I.  "I'm  positive 
there's  trouble  behind  that  smell." 

However,  she  didn't  have  the  opportunity  to  do  any  prob- 
ing, for  in  pranced  Lily.  In  her  right  hand  she  held  a  plat- 
ter, and  on  the  platter  was — what  ?  From  the  grin  of  intense 
delight  that  was  glued  to  her  face  it  was  evident  that,  what- 
ever it  was,  it  was  the  greatest  thing  that  ever  sat  on  a 
platter  since  platters  came  into  vogue. 

"There  it  is,"  she  said  ecstatically,  bubbling  over  with  the 
joy  of  her  achievement;  "there's  Irish  stoo,  Norwegian 
style." 

"Stew !"  I  screamed.  "That's  a  potato  cake  or  a  fishcake," 
and  by  the  way  that  is  exactly  what  it  looked  like,  and 
scarcely  a  trifle  larger.  Maria  and  I  both  decided  that,  if 
it  tasted  as  good  as  it  smelled,  it  was  something  that  Lucullus 
would  come  from  his  grave  to  investigate. 

"How  many  of  them  did  you  make  ?"  I  inquired.  "We'll 
need  at  least  six  of  these  apiece  for  a  meal,  and  where  is 
the  gravy,  also  the  meat  and  the  vegetables?" 

"All  the  gravy,  meat  and  vegetables  is  in  that  cake,  and 
theys  one  cake,  and  that's  all  they  is,"  and,  having  un- 
bosomed herself,  Lily  stood  gazing  at  us  defiantly. 

"What !"  I  shrieked,  "a  pound  and  a  half  of  meat  and  a 
carload  of  vegetables  that  we  gave  you  to  make  a  stew 
with  all  burned  up  and  condensed  into  that  miserable  gob  of 
pulverized  hash?  You've  destroyed  a  whole  meal  sufficient 
for  four  people  at  one  fell  swoop.  The  bones  of  course  are 
in  it,  too.  Well,  this  is  the  magic  disappearance  trick  of  all 
the  ages.  I've  heard  of  compressed  air  and  compressed 
bricks,  but  I  never  saw  a  bucketful  of  stew  compressed  into 
a  potato  cake  the  size  of  a  collar  button.  If  that's  Irish  stew, 
Norwegian  style,  appetites  in  Norway  must  be  satisfied  by 
smells  instead  of  food.  Lily,  you  created  that  edible  freak; 
you  are  its  parents,  its  mother  and  father;  it  is  your  prop- 
erty, yours  to  have  and  to  hold  forever  and  ever.  Take  it 
to  your  breast  and  be  gone.  Stews  Norwegian  style  at  that 
rate  I  would  calculate  to  cost  about  ten  dollars  a  bite.  As 
a  booster  of  the  high  cost  of  living,  and  various  other  ac- 
complishments, Lily,  you  are  the  medal  taker." 

During  this  conversation  chops  were  phoned  for  and 
cooked  by  Maria.  Lily  in  the  meanwhile,  deeply  hurt  by  our 
lack  of  appreciation,  returned  to  the  kitchen,  dropping  her 
Irish-Norwegian  "stoo"  twice  en  route,  and  did  not  favor  us 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  97 

•— •— — ^— ^^—  — •^~~ ~ ~— — ^ « 

(fortunately)  with  her  company  at  dinner  that  day  at  least. 
During  our  repast  we  heard  the  latest  addition  of  our  fam- 
ily murmuring  o'er  and  o'er  again :  "The  more  youse  does 
for  people  the  more  youse  is  composed  on." 

After  the  dishes  were  washed,  I  called  Lily,  and  asked  her 
when  Gustave  was  coming  up  to  call  on  her. 

"To-night,"  she  said  delightedly,  grinning  from  ear  to  ear, 
and  then  suddenly  sobering  up,  as  if  some  death's  head  had 
appeared  at  her  mental  feast,  added,  "but  I  ain't  got  no 
shoes.  The  pair  I  had  on  was  me  best,  and  one  of  them  is 
busted.  The  other  pair'll  hold  together,  but  they  makes  me 
feet  look  biggern'  a  house,  and,  if  Gustave  ever  seen  'em, 
that  would  be  me  finish.  As  soon  as  I'se  been  a  daughter  of 
the  family  long  enough  to  draw  some  money  on  account,  me 
for  a  white  skirt  and  a  sailor  blouse,  white  canvas  shoes,  a 
sailor  hat  with  the  name  of  Gus'  ship  on  it,  a  pair  of  white 
gloves  and  a  twenty-nine-cent  pair  of  real  silk  stockings 
to  top  off  the  rig.  I  can  get  it  all  with  six  bones." 

I  gave  her  eight  dollars,  for  she  was  deplorably  short  of 
clothing,  not  having  even  a  presentable  house  dress,  and  the 
heavy,  stuffy  clothes  she  wore  made  her  bulky  figure  in  the 
raging  heat  of  summer  a  seething  mass  of  sweltering  per- 
spiration. "Now,  look  here,  Lily,"  said  I,  quite  seriously, 
"the  money  I  have  given  you  you  haven't  earned,  and  proba- 
bly never  will  earn.  Use  that  money  well,  or  I'll  have  all  the 
police  in  the  city  after  you." 

She  was  too  excited  to  say  thanks,  but  she  looked  it 
more  eloquently  than  words  could  express,  and,  leaping  in 
the  air  for  joy,  yelled:  "Gee,  I'm  in  luck;  me  dreams  has 
come  true;  God  bless  everybody,  Lily  most  of  all,"  and  dis- 
appeared in  the  direction  of  her  room. 

By  five  o'clock  Lily  had  returned  from  her  shopping  ex- 
cursion, looking  another  creature.  She  was  quite  attractive, 
and,  best  of  all,  neat  and  clean.  She  had  gone  to  her  home, 
and  garbed  herself  in  her  new  war  paint,  and  descended  on 
iis  like  an  Alpine  avalanche.  But  there  was,  alas !  a  rift  in 
the  lute.  She  had  purchased  shoes  from  one  to  two  sizes 
too  small,  and  at  short  intervals  during  the  evening  she 
would  hang  to  a  table  or  chair,  lift  one  foot  painfully  and 
ejaculate,  "Ouch!  Darn  them  shoes;  but  I'se  goin'  to  wear 
'em  if  they  kills  me,"  and  resume  her  painful  duties. 

Later  Gustave  called,  and  a  finer  young  fellow,  physically, 
mentally  and  morally,  one  would  scarcely  have  found  any- 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 


where.  Gustave  had  only  been  in  this  country  a  few  years, 
but  he  spoke  English  perfectly,  with  scarcely  a  suspicion  of 
an  accent,  and  showed  breeding  and  refinement.  How  he 
could  have  become  interested  in  Lily  we  could  never  fathom, 
but  he  was  devoted  to  her,  that  was  evident.  Well,  love 
fortunately  has  eye  trouble,  and — well,  there  is  no  account- 
ing for  tastes.  Gustave  thanked  us  for  taking  an  interest  in 
his  fiancee,  while  she  wrestled  with  her  shoes,  which  were 
rapidly  becoming  a  torture,  meanwhile  using  language  that 
would  have  positively  shocked  her  pastor,  to  whom  she  con- 
stantly referred.  A  few  minutes  later  they  wished  us  good 
night,  and  departed  for  one  of  the  beaches.  As  Lily  left  the 
room  we  noticed  that  she  had  a  package  of  considerable 
size,  of  the  brown-paper  variety,  under  her  arm. 

"I  wonder  what  she  has  in  that  bundle,"  said  Maria  curi- 
ously; "it  looks  to  me  like  a  pair  of  shoes." 

"Nonsense,"  said  I,  "just  as  if  a  woman  who  had  one  pair 
of  shoes  on  her  feet  would  carry  another  pair  under  her 
arm."  Maria  said  nothing,  content  to  wait  for  further  de- 
velopments. 

The  following  morning  at  breakfast  the  mystery  of  the 
parcel  was  divulged.  Lily,  it  seems,  had  suffered  such  ex- 
cruciating torture  with  her  new  shoes  that  she  decided  to 
take  the  old  ones  with  her,  the  pair  in  which  even  her  ca- 
pacious feet  could  move  with  comfort.  Appearance  meant 
everything  to  Lily  when  on  the  street  with  Gustave,  but  a 
number  seven  foot  encased  in  a  five  and  a  half  shoe  is  the 
limit  of  endurance,  a  form  of  torture  that  even  Lily  could 
endure  only  for  short  periods.  So  down  she  sat  on  a  con- 
venient doorstep,  when  the  pain  got  too  acute,  and  off  went 
the  canvas  oxfords,  white  and  dainty,  and  on  went  the  roomy 
footgear,  the  size  of  which  made  Gustave's  feet  almost  pale 
into  insignificance.  Thus  it  was  she  had  managed  to  get 
through  the  evening. 

Lily's  elbows,  as  usual,  on  this  particular  morning  were 
glued  to  the  breakfast  table,  that  being  the  position  they  in- 
variably occupied  during  meals.  They  simply  would  slide 
back  on  the  table,  no  matter  how  often  we  admonished  her 
to  keep  them  off.  She  was  exceedingly  fond  of  sugar,  and 
her  tea  or  coffee  cup,  after  the  fluid  had  disappeared,  was 
always  a  third  full  of  solids.  Resting  her  arms  on  the  table, 
as  usual,  she  would  grasp  her  cup  in  her  left  hand,  and, 
taking  her  spoon  in  the  right,  dig  viciously  into  the  cup, 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  99 

scooping  up  the  sediment  and  drawing  the  sugar-laden  spoon 
down  the  whole  length  of  her  tongue,  which  protruded  to 
the  fullest  possible  extent,  so  that  the  saccharine  matter 
could  not  possibly  escape  its  destination.  Then,  she  would 
pour  a  little  milk  into  her  cup,  stir  violently,  tilt  her  chair 
backward  as  far  as  she  could  without  losing  her  balance,  so 
as  to  get  the  very  last  drop  it  contained.  These  were  her 
usual  antics  at  every  meal,  for  Lily's  table  manners  were,  to 
say  the  least,  unique  and  picturesque,  if  not  elegant.  I  was 
reading  my  newspaper  oblivious  of  Lily  and  all  her  works, 
when  there  was  a  yell  and  a  crash — that  blood-curdling 
racket  that  always  accompanies  the  smashing  of  glass.  She 
had  done  her  balancing  stunt  once  too  often  for  our  mutual 
good,  and  had  landed  in  the  glass  china  closet  immediately 
in  her  rear,  and  no  bull  in  a  china  shop  ever  did  a  neater 
job.  Fortunately  (as  Lily  viewed  it)  she  had  given  herself 
two  nasty  cuts,  and  our  wrath  was  turned  to  sympathy  for 
a  while  at  least.  She  bled  profusely  for  a  few  moments,  but 
said  she  didn't  mind  losing  a  little  red  paint  once  in  a  while, 
and  she'd  "woik"  for  a  month  free  of  charge  to  make  up  for 
the  damage  that  no  toil  such  as  she  rendered  could  have 
paid  for  in  a  hundred  years.  Shortly  after  she  was  laugh- 
ing as  though  the  destruction  of  expensive  china  closets  and 
their  contents  was  a  thing  of  daily  occurrence  with  her. 

Lily  had  for  a  long  time  been  nursing  her  wrath  against 
the  delivery  boys  of  our  Italian  grocer  and  Dutch  butcher. 
Their  articles  of  trade  were  brought  on  wagons,  taken  into 
the  cellar,  and  hoisted  up  to  us  on  the  dumbwaiter.  Thanks 
to  Lily's  stupidity,  she  was  constantly  appropriating  the  pro- 
visions purchased  by  our  neighbors  in  the  apartment  beneath, 
and  forcing  ours  upon  them.  If  we  ordered  chicken  and 
our  neighbors  pork  chops,  it  was  ten  to  one  Lily  would  see 
that  we  got  the  chops,  while  some  one  else  got  the  chicken, 
as  she  could  cook  the  former,  but  had  no  idea  in  the  world 
what  to  do  with  a  plucked  chicken  except  to  bury  it.  As  a 
result  of  her  free  and  easy  way  of  distributing  other  people's 
property,  constant  friction  arose  between  the  boys  and  her- 
self. She  "sassed"  the  lads,  and  they  replied  as  mildly  and 
diplomatically  as  possible,  but  not  mildly  enough  to  suit 
Lily,  who,  though  a  cooing  dove  to  those  she  felt  were  her 
equals,  was  a  terror  to  those  she  deemed  her  inferiors.  On 
this  particular  day  the  trouble  came  to  a  head,  and  Lily 
dashed  downstairs  into  the  cellar,  armed  with  a  carpet 


ioo  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

sweeper.  When  Italy  and  Germany  saw  Lily  advancing 
upon  them  like  a  mad  bull,  with  a  hot  stove  lid  tied  to  its 
tail,  they  ran  for  their  lives,  but  not  before  they  each  had 
received  a  whack  from  the  carpet  sweeper  that  temporarily 
at  least  put  them  out  of  business.  The  Dutch  boy  had  no  rel- 
atives to  champion  his  cause ;  the  Italian  youth,  however,  had 
a  father  with  beetling  eyebrows,  a  stiletto  and  a  tremendous 
black  mustache.  Lily  had  informed  us  that,  if  the  Italian 
parent  arrived  on  the  scene,  there  would  be  another  Black 
Hand  funeral  worth  going  miles  to  see,  or  her  name  wasn't 
'*Lily.  In  the  evening  our  fears  were  realized;  the  doorbell 
rang  violently.  Lily  had  visions  of  stilettos,  and  was  not 
quite  decided  whether  to  crawl  under  her  bed  or  settle  the 
dispute  with  the  dago  (as  she  contemptuously  called  him)  on 
the  sidewalk.  As  we  did  not  care  to  have  a  battle,  from 
which  neither  combatant  would  have  emerged  alive,  we 
peremptorily  ordered  Lily  to  the  roof.  All  this  time  the  bell 
was  buzzing  continuously,  and  Maria  with  considerable  trepi- 
dation descended  to  face  the  irate  Italian : 

"I  want  seea  da  boss,"  hissed  the  infuriated  compatriot  of 
Marconi. 

"Come  right  up,"  said  Maria  soothingly,  conducting  the 
enraged  parent  into  my  presence.  After  begging  him  to  be 
seated,  I  explained  to  him  that  Lily  was  no  longer  with  us, 
and  that  I  was  as  anxious  to  see  her  assassinated  as  he  was, 
and  would  consider  it  an  honor  if  he  would  permit  me  to  as- 
sist him  in  doing  the  job.  This  seemed  to  pacify  him, 
though  he  asked  for  her  address.  After  handing  him  a  few 
cigars,  which  chased  the  clouds  of  wrath  from  his  face,  and 
made  him  a  smiling  human,  I  gave  him  a  card,  on  which  I 
wrote:  Miss  Martha  Washington,  32463  Skate  St.,  Chi- 
cago, 111.,  and  I  remarked: 

"She  bada  girl,  no  gooda;  I  fire  her;  she  goa  home." 

Our  Italian  friend  pocketed  the  card,  lit  one  of  the  cigars 
with  a  match  which  I  proffered  him,  and  which  he  acknowl- 
edged graciously,  and  departed  for  the  stairway,  muttering 
under  his  breath: 
.      "She  killa  my  son,  I  killa  her." 

Until  Lily's  departure  we  found  it  convenient  to  change 
two  of  our  tradesmen  at  least,  and  Lily  during  the  rest  of  her 
reign  of  disorder  kept  a  wary  eye  for  dark  men  with  black 
mustaches. 

The  following  day  was  Sunday.     Lily,  with  her  new  re- 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  101 

galia  of  white  and  an  extra  pair  of  shoes  tucked  under  her 
arm,  visited  Gustave's  battleship,  anchored  in  the  lower 
bay.  On  Monday  we  learned  that,  after  leaving  the  battle- 
ship, she  had  gone  to  her  church,  and  got  converted  for  the 
second  time,  her  first  conversion,  so  she  declared,  resembling 
vaccination,  inasmuch  as  it  didn't  take.  Lily  was  deter- 
mined to  be  an  angel,  it  seems,  if  there  were  any  angel's 
wings  lying  around  loose,  as  flying,  she  said,  would  save  shoe 
leather  and  rest  her  feet.  During  the  evening  service  at 
church  she  had  removed  her  shoes,  and  was  halfway  out  of 
the  edifice  before  she  discovered  her  loss.  After  recovering 
and  adjusting  her  footgear,  she  tucked  the  relief  pair  under 
her  arm,  hobbled  out  into  the  night,  and  trudged  painfully 
toward  home,  thoroughly  set  in  her  determination  to  lead  a 
new  life.  Unfortunately,  however,  a  drunken  man  lurched 
against  her  and  pushed  her  from  the  sidewalk,  her  right  big 
toe  receiving  a  painful  injury  as  it  came  in  violent  contact 
with  an  aggressive  cobblestone.  Pastor,  conversion  and  the 
higher  life  were  forgotten,  as  Lily  emptied  the  vials  of  her 
wrath  upon  the  reeling  inebriate.  At  this  moment,  it  ap- 
pears, she  met  a  girl  friend,  who  induced  her  to  take  a  car 
ride  to  one  of  the  beaches  close  to  a  military  reservation. 
Arriving  at  the  beach,  Lily's  friend  met  her  soldier  sweet- 
heart, and  he  obligingly  provided  Lily  with  a  comrade  for  a 
dancing  partner.  All  would  have  been  joyous  had  not  Lily 
been  forced  to  retire  to  a  convenient  nook  at  intervals  to  rest 
her  feet  and  change  her  shoes.  All  of  a  sudden  she  discov- 
ered that  the  clock  had  just  struck  three,  and  the  horror  of 
the  thing  smote  her  conscience  with  an  impact  that  was 
terrific.  In  the  distance,  o'er  the  moonlit  waters,  she  could 
see  Gustave's  battleship,  where  her  future  husband  lay,  bliss- 
fully dreaming  of  his  affianced,  and  then  the  thoughts  of  a. 
home  where  she  was  an  honored  and  distinguished  member  I 
of  the  family,  and  from  which  she  was  many  miles  distant, 
seared  her  brain  like  a  hot  iron.  Then,  too,  had  she  not 
been  "conwerted,"  as  she  styled  it  only  a  few  hours  before? 
Lily,  who  was  mad  as  a  hornet,  knew  who  was  the  cause  of 
her  downfall,  and,  grabbing  her  girl  friend  and  temptress  by 
the  throat,  gave  her  a  reproving  slap,  which  put  that  lady  to 
sleep  under  a  neighboring  table,  then  freed  herself  from  her 
worldly  companions,  dashed  to  the  spot  where  her  shoes  were 
hidden,  and  had  just  replaced  one  white  shoe  with  one  black, 
when  her  erstwhile  chum,  now  her  battered  and  infuriated 


IO2  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

enemy,  shrieking  wildly,  bore  down  on  her  with  the  force  of 
a  hurricane.  The  proprietor  of  the  hall  and  a  motley  crowd 
of  human  night  owls  brought  up  the  rear.  Lily  with  aston- 
ishing agility  jumped  through  the  open  window,  a  drop  of 
some  four  feet,  and,  outdistancing  her  pursuers,  was  soon 
lost  in  a  strip  of  woods  adjoining  the  reservation,  and 
quickly  made  her  way  to  the  nearest  car  line  for  home,  mut- 
tering to  herself  all  the  entire  journey. 

"Three  o'clock  in  the  mornin',  and  me  a  member  of  the 
farn'ly  and  only  jest  conwerted."  Of  course  Lily  had  lost 
her  key,  and  it  was  necessary  for  her  to  ring  the  bell  and 
arouse  Maria.  She  stumbled  up  the  stairs  as  the  clock  struck 
five,  her  unmatched  footgear  making  travel  difficult,  and  her 
overburdened  mind  resulting  in  speech  that  was  voluble  but 
incoherent.  Not  until  nine  a.  m.  was  it  possible  to  eject 
Lily  from  dreamland,  and  then  only  from  a  feeling  of  hun- 
ger, and  not  from  any  sense  of  duty,  did  she  consent  to  leave 
her  bed,  on  which  she  had  thrown  herself,  without  remov- 
ing her  clothes,  and  with  a  thud  which  shook  the  entire 
house. 

Lily's  reign  of  terror  was  rapidly  drawing  to  a  close.  Our 
nerves  were  being  worn  to  a  frazzle,  and  happily  the  end 
was  in  sight.  A  letter  had  dropped  to  the  floor  by  my  bed- 
side, a  side  that  was  not  very  accessible.  In  sweeping  she 
had  noticed  it,  and,  not  being  able  to  reach  it  with  her 
sweeper,  drooped  on  her  hands  and  knees,  and,  grunting  and 
wheezing  like  a  tubercular  steer,  crawled  under  the  bed. 
Finding  her  position  an  uncomfortable  one,  and  that  she  was 
unable  to  move  unless  the  bed  moved  with  her,  and  failing 
also  to  dislodge  her  shirtwaist  which  had  caught  in  the 
springs,  instead  of  calling  for  Maria's  help,  she  humped  her 
back  like  a  camel,  and  tried  to  stand  upright,  pushing  springs 
and  mattress,  on  which  I  was  lying,  from  their  moorings, 
high  in  the  air,  nearly  causing  me  to  stand  on  my  head  and 
almost  breaking  my  neck  in  the  process.  My  shouts  brought 
Maria  to  the  rescue;  I  was  made  comfortable,  and  Lily  was 
released. 

"Well,  I  gave  you  a  nice  ride,  didn't  I  ?"  chirped  the  irre- 
sponsible barbarian;  "a  good  shake-up  is  what  you  wants; 
another  one  of  them  and  youse  would  be  a  Marathon  run- 
ner." 

"Woman,"  said  I,  with  all  the  force  and  vehemence  at  my 
command,  "you  leave  this  house  to-morrow.  Phone  at  once 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  'Book  '103 

to  the  agency  and  let  that  cheerful  prevaricator  who  recom- 
mended you  as  a  refined,  ladylike,  capable  girl,  find  you  an- 
other victim  to  practice  on.  Your  reign  of  terror  here  has 
ended;  I  would  rather  have  a  mad  hippopotamus  in  the 
house,  or  the  whole  Bronx  Zoo,  than  a  quarter  of  your  car- 
cass. You're  impossible;  I've  been  risking  my  life  ever  since 
you've  been  here,  endeavoring  to  make  a  rational  human  be- 
ing out  of  you,  but  you're  a  hopeless  case.  I  give  it  up.  You 
go,  and  go  quick.  Fade,  hike,  be  on  your  way." 

Lily  looked  at  me  dazed.  Her  face,  almost  as  white  as  her 
teeth,  screwed  up  into  a  knot  as  she  flopped  into  a  chair,  and 
in  a  frenzy  of  mingled  grief  and  rage  slid  face  downward  on 
the  floor,  which  she  hammered  alternately  with  fists  and  feet, 
in  impotent  rage  and  mortification,  as  we  often  see  a  spoiled 
child  do  when  its  favorite  toy  is  taken  from  it. 

"I  never  gets  a  easy  job,"  she  moaned;  "I  never  strikes  a 
cinch ;  I  never  goes  up  against  a  soft  thing,  but  in  a  day  or 
two  they  hands  me  me  ticket,  and  tells  me  to  beat  it.  Me 
brothers  and  me  mother  says,  'Lily,  youse  couldn't  hold  a  job 
if  youse  was  nailed  to  it,'  and  this  time  I  was  a-goin'  to  fool 
'em;  I  was  goin'  to  be  a  typewritest  and  a  stenography,  and 
instead  I'se  got  it  in  the  neck  once  more.  No  gentleman 
would  ever  fire  a  lady  who  hadn't  got  no  shoes  to  go  home 
in." 

"Don't  you  worry,  young  lady,"  said  I,  "about  the  shoes; 
you'll  go  home  if  you  have  to  go  in  a  strait  jacket,  a  patrol 
wagon,  or  walk  home  on  your  head.  Out  you  go,  remember, 
to-morrow  by  noon  sharp.  To  me  you  are  as  one  who  has 
never  lived;  I've  buried  you  in  the  graveyard  of  forgotten 
things.  Get  up  off  that  floor,  and  be  busy  with  that  phone, 
and  tell  that  double-dyed  villain  who  recommended  you  to 
us  to  get  you  another  job.  Instead  of  sending  us  a  human 
being,  she  sent  us  an  elephant  in  skirts;  all  you  lack  is  a 
trunk  to  be  one." 

"Well,"  said  Lily,  recovering  her  sense  of  humor,  "I'se 
got  suit  cases  instead;  like  to  see  me  hang  one  on  me  nose? 
Wish  I  was  a  elephant,  then  I  wouldn't  have  to  buy  no 
shoes." 

She  rang  up  the  agency,  and  was  told  to  come  down  imme- 
diately. A  lady  wanted  a  waitress  for  a  hospital.  "Ah,  I 
know,"  said  I;  "that's  just  the  kind  of  a  job  you'll  fill  to  a 
T.  You've  got  to  serve  meals  to  the  people  in  the  morgue, 
and  those  are  about  the  only  people  you  are  fit  to  wait  on. 


IO4  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

Poor  souls  who  want  nothing  more  on  this  earth.  That  job 
was  made  for  you,  built  for  you.  Try  for  it,  Lily,  do;  they 
may  make  you  a  daughter  of  the  family." 

Unmindful  of  the  lady  who  was  waiting  for  her,  she  hob- 
bled off  and  borrowed  Maria's  shoe  blacking,  and,  while 
Maria  did  the  housework,  Lily,  in  the  most  artistic  man- 
ner, transformed  her  white  shoe  into  a  black  one.  This  was 
her  solution  of  a  serious  problem;  the  only  drawback  was, 
however,  that  one  shoe  was  a  low-cut  oxford,  and  the  other 
a  high-buttoned  affair,  and  even  Lily's  artistic  accomplish- 
ments could  not  transform  a  low-cut  shoe  into  a  high  one 
or  vice  versa.  At  this  moment  the  phone  rang;  the  agency 
lady  wanted  to  know  if  Lily  had  started. 

"Started,"  said  I ;  "you,  who  know  Lily,  ask  a  question  like 
that!  Started?  Great  heavens,  all  she's  started  to  do  is  to 
manicure  her  shoes.  She's  painting  the  white  one  black,  and 
it's  taken  her  an  hour  to  get  the  bottle  out  of  the  cork." 

"Can  I  speak  to  her?"  inquired  the  woman  humbly.  Lily 
was  already  at  the  phone  to  answer  for  herself,  and  thus  it 
was  she  answered: 

"Say,  Mrs.  Johnson,  what's  eatin'  that  old  hen?  What's 
her  hurry?  Don't  she  know  that,  if  she  wants  to  see  me, 
she's  got  to  wait  till  I'm  good  and  ready  to  see  her?  Stand 
her  up  till  'bout  four  this  afternoon.  If  I  hurry  I  can  make 
it  by  then,"  and,  with  a  look  of  supreme  disgust  on  her  face, 
Lily  limped  off  to  put  a  few  more  artistic  touches  to  her 
shoe,  ejaculating  en  route:  "Aw,  these  women  make  me 
sick."  " 

At  three  p.  m.  Lily  borrowed  a  quarter  for  carfare,  and 
trudged  painfully  in  the  direction  of  the  car  line,  returning 
at  nine  that  night.  She  had  borrowed  money  to  secure  a  new 
pair  of  shoes,  this  time  only  half  a  size  too  small  for  her, 
and  she  had  got  the  best  position  she  had  ever  had  and  was 
to  be  at  "woik"  at  eight-thirty  the  following  morning. 

"Youse  don't  think  I'll  get  there,"  said  she,  "but  this  is 
where  I'se  goin'  to  fool  youse,  'cause  I  ain't  goin'  to  bed  at 
all,  I'se  goin'  to  sit  up  or  maybe  I'll  lie  down  with  half  me 
clothes  on  and  half  off.  But  when  the  clock  hits  thirty  min- 
utes past  eight,  Lily'll  be  on  the  job.  You  see  I'se  to  wait 

on  the  doctors'  and  noises'  (nurses')  table  at  the  

Hospital,  and  if  I  ain't  there,  they  don't  eat,  see  ?" 

Here  Lily  raided  the  icebox  for  a  late  supper,  stuck  her 
elbows  in  a  sheet  of  "catch-em-alive"  fly  paper,  which,  with  its 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  105 

burden  of  dead  flies  and  nasty  stickiness,  clung  tenaciously  to 
her  only  presentable  waist  with  all  the  clinginess  and  death- 
like grip  of  a  poor  relation.  After  her  exit  it  was  arranged 
without  her  knowledge,  that  we  would  wake  her  up  at  five 
o'clock,  putting  the  clocks  on  two  hours,  as  otherwise  it  would 
be  useless  attempting  to  get  her  to  work  on  time,  though  the 
hospital  was  only  a  thirty  minute  ride  from  our  door. 

When  Maria  entered  Lily's  room  in  the  morning,  she  found 
her  stretched  on  the  bed,  so  fast  in  the  arms  of  Morpheus 
that  only  a  derrick  or  a  stick  of  dynamite  could  have  sepa- 
rated her  from  the  sleepy  god.  She  had  removed  nothing  but 
her  shoes,  and  the  hairpins  from  her  hair.  The  fly  paper 
which  now  also  adhered  to  her  back  had  succeeded  in  gather- 
ing in  a  considerable  quantity  of  her  stray  locks.  In  vain 
Maria  tried  to  awaken  her. 

"You  have  to  be  at  your  position  in  an  hour,"  she  said, 
pulling  the  slumbering  beauty  into  a  sitting  position. 

"Get  off  that  bed,  and  be  out  of  this  house  within  an  hour, 
or  I'll  phone  for  the  police,"  I  shouted. 

All  Lily  heard  was  police,  and  as  she  dropped  back  on  the 
pillow  as  Maria  in  despair  let  go  of  her  bulky  form,  she  mur- 
mured with  disdain,  as  she  closed  her  eyes :  "Police — /  eat s 
'em .'" 

We  made  another  attempt  at  seven  to  wake  her,  but  she 
had  apparently  lost  all  interest  in  her  new  position.  What  was 
worrying  her  was  the  fact  that  she  was  tied  up  to  a  fly  paper 
that  refused  to  let  go  of  her  hair,  until  Maria  sheared  her 
loose  with  her  scissors.  Her  only  waist  was  in  a  hopeless 
state,  and  it  simply  had  to  be  washed  before  she  could  pre- 
sent herself  for  employment  even  at  a  livery  stable.  Lily 
wanted  breakfast  first,  however,  but  Maria  was  obdurate,  so 
Lily  calmly  started  to  wash  a  waist.  Later  she  got  herself 
something  to  eat  and  began  to  wash  all  the  soiled  clothes  she 
possessed.  Maria  had  a  number  of  duties  to  attend  to,  which 
took  her  from  the  house  for  two  hours.  After  she  had  dis- 
appeared there  was  an  ominous  silence.  I  called  to  Lily  time 
and  again,  but  got  no  response.  Had  she  jumped  from  the 
window?  No.  Lily  was  not  much  of  a  jumper.  After  an 
hour  or  more  the  bell  rang  repeatedly.  No  one  answered, 
and  as  is  the  custom  in  such  cases  the  bell  of  the  flat  below 
was  rung,  our  neighbor's  attention  attracted  and  the  door 
opened. 


io6  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

"It's  a  friend,  Mr. ,  wants  to  see  you,"  shouted  our 

neighbor  from  the  hall. 

"Many  thanks,"  I  replied,  "ask  him  to  come  up."  Up  he 
came,  to  my  relief,  and  after  a  brief  explanation  I  asked 
him  to  go  into  the  kitchen  and  investigate  the  cause  of  the 
ominous  silence  which  prevailed  in  that  region. 

"Fast  asleep,"  was  the  report.  Fast  asleep  !  and  it  was  now 
noon! 

"Please  go  and  wake  her  up,  George,"  I  said  to  my  friend ; 
"give  her  a  good  shaking;  she  needs  it." 

Lily  got  her  shaking,  finally  awoke,  and  suddenly  realizing 
there  was  a  strange  man  in  front  of  her,  let  out  a  scream 
that  was  heard  all  over  the  block : 

"Boiglers  !  Perlice  ! !  Whose  youse,  and  what's  youse 
doin'  in  this  flat  ?" 

Here  Lily  grabbed  a  kitchen  knife. 

"Beat  it,  or  I'll  jab  youse,"  she  yelled,  and  my  friend,  who 
was  no  hero,  retired  hastily  with  Lily  at  his  heels. 

"Quit,  you  chump,"  I  shouted,  as  the  two  ran  into  the  room. 
"That  is  a  friend  of  mine;  you've  been  asleep  for  two  hours, 
and  I  had  to  call  this  man  from  police  headquarters  to  come 
and  wake  you."  It  wasn't  necessary  to  hew  strictly  to  the 
line  of  truth  when  explaining  to  Lily,  she  was  too  dense  to 
understand  it  or  anything  else. 

"Sure  youse  ain't  robbed  and  youse  throat  ain't  cut?" 

"No,"  I  replied.  "But  yours  will  be,  if  you're  not  out  of 
this  house  in  half  an  hour.  This  gentleman  is  a  detective, 
and  he's  here  to  throw  you  out  if  I  say  the  word." 

"Defectives,"  sneered  Lily  contemptuously,  retreating  to 
her  lair.  "I  eats  'em." 

My  friend,  after  a  few  moments'  chat,  departed,  Lily  call- 
ing derisively  after  him:  "Huh,  there  goes  the  defective." 
Here  I  called  her,  and  she  slouched  in  and  sat  on  the  edge  of 
a  chair,  fanning  herself  with  a  half  dried  shirtwaist,  utterly 
unconcerned. 

"Lily,"  I  said,  "I  am  going  to  phone  to  that  hospital,  and 
ask  my  friend  the  head  surgeon,  Dr.  George  Brisbane,  to  send 
the  bug  ambulance  for  you.  It's  the  doctor's  table  you  have 
to  wait  on,  but  it's  not  a  table  where  people  eat ;  it's  the  oper- 
ating table  where  they  cut  people  up,  and  once  you  get  in 
there  I've  only  got  to  call  up  the  chief  surgeon,  who  has  a 
knife  three  feet  long,  and  he'll  make  seventeen  kinds  of  a 
ham  sandwich  of  you.  It  isn't  the  morgue,  mind,  that  you've 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  107 

got  to  wait  on,  but  you  have  to  wait  on  a  doctor's  table  where 
they  carve  people,  and,  if  there  aren't  enough  people  to  prac- 
tice on,  they  cut  up  the  help,  and  you'll  be  sliced  like  a  deli- 
catessen ham.  I  wouldn't  be  in  your  shoes  for  a  million 
dollars." 

Lily  had  never  looked  at  the  matter  from  this  point  of 
view.  She  could  see  how  the  doctor's  table  might  be  other 
than  a  table  where  meals  were  served,  and  that  they  might 
need  her  to  carry  away  dismembered  bodies,  for  Lily  was 
densely  ignorant  and  believed  that  surgeons  had  the  right  to 
cut  sick  people  all  to  pieces  if  they  so  desired.  Surgery  had 
no  limitations,  as  far  as  Lily's  knowledge  of  the  subject  was 
concerned.  She  now  watched  me  reach  for  the  phone,  think- 
ing I  would  not  dare  to  use  it.  I,  however,  called  up  a  friend 
of  mine,  who  is  always  prepared  to  help  out  with  a  joke,  and, 
happily,  a  physician. 

"Doctor,"  I  said,  "there  is  a  woman  here  who  should  have 
been  at  your  hospital  at  half  past  eight  this  morning,  and 
here  it  is  nearly  noon,  and  I  can't  get  rid  of  her;  if  she  isn't 
at  your  hospital  at  one  o'clock,  will  you  send  your  big  ambu- 
lance and  a  strait  jacket?  She's  been  engaged  by  the  super- 
intendent to  wait  on  the  operating  table.  If  you'll  give  her 
all  that's  coming  to  her  when  you  get  hold  of  her,  I'll  be  ex- 
ceedingly obliged.  One  moment,  Doc;  I'll  ask  Lily  to  speak 
to  you." 

It  was  not  necessary;  she  had  flown.  In  twenty  minutes 
she  had  ironed  two  waists,  and  thrown  the  rest  of  her  pos- 
sessions into  a  suit  case.  Never  was  such  activity  seen  in 
this  world.  Maria  entered  just  as  she  was  making  her  final 
preparations  to  get  out,  and  quickly  got  her  a  light  lunch,  for 
Lily  was  determined  not  to  leave  the  house  before  she  had 
.,  had  one  more  meal.  Luncheon  over,  Lily  suddenly  began  to 
rry,  reproaching  herself  for  having  caused  us  so  much  trou- 
ble, and  begging  to  be  allowed  to  catch  all  the  flies  her 
carelessness  had  let  into  the  house.  And  would  we  promise 
to  tell  Gustave  she'd  left  because  she  wanted  more  money,  so 
that  she  could  put  something  in  the  bank  toward  housekeep- 
ing? We  were  willing  to  promise  anything  to  get  rid  of 
her. 

"Maria,"  said  I,  "if  you  would  be  kind  enough  to  help 
Lily  to  the  door  with  her  suit  cases,  I  should  feel  exceed- 
ingly obliged."  Lily  came  over  to  me,  put  out  her  hand,  and 


io8  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  ~Book 

said:  "I  would  kiss  youse  good-by,  but  I  knows  youse  don't 
like  joims  (germs)." 

"Lots  of  luck,  Lily,"  I  replied;  "here's  a  quarter  for  your 
carfare  and  a  soda,  and  every  good  thing  in  this  world  I  hope^ 
will  come  your  way." 

She  was  overcome  with  emotion,  and  commenced  to  boo, 
then  to  weep,  and  then  to  howl  until  Maria  took  her  by  the 
arm,  and,  comforting  her,  led  her  from  the  room,  but  not 
beforj  Lily  had  deposited  her  suit  cases  on  the  floor  by  the 
door  r.nd  thrown  me  a  number  of  kisses  in  the  most  approved 
fashion,  which  I  acknowledged  in  kind. 

"I  hopes  the  next  time  I  see  youse,  youse'll  be  playin' 
football,"  was  her  parting  remark.  And  so  Lily  departed,  big 
tears  screaming  down  her  capacious  cheeks,  and  a  regular 
freshet  dropping  on  the  floor  as  she  kissed  Maria  good-by. 
Maria  watched  her  as  she  disappeared  up  the  street,  every 
ten  yards  or  so  depositing  her  baggage  on  the  sidewalk  to 
throw  kisses  in  the  direction  of  the  window  at  which  Maria 
was  waving  her  hand.  She  repeated  this  operation  at  least 
half  a  dozen  times  before  she  finally  faded  from  view. 

"Poor  unfortunate,"  said  sympathetic  Maria. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  I  added;  "poor  unfortunate.  Lily  is  the 
result  of  heredity  and  environment.  Nature  gave  her  a  good 
heart,  but  forgot  to  supply  her  with  a  ballast  wheel  and  a 
thinking  apparatus.  No  more  agency  help  for  me." 

"Well,"  said  Maria,  "we  have  tried  every  known  way  to 
secure  the  kind  of  help  adapted  to  our  needs,  with  no  suc- 
cess. What  are  you  going  to  do  now?" 

"The  Lord  only  knows,"  said  I,  "and  he  won't  tell.  Any- 
way, let  us  be  thankful  we  got  rid  of  Lily,  and  I'll  see  our 
next  advertisement  doesn't  bring  a  horde  of  incompetents." 

Just  as  we  finished  thanking  a  kindly  Providence  for  de- 
livering us  of  that  untamed  creature,  Lily,  the  street  door 
bell  rang  violently.  As  Maria  rushed  hastily  to  the  door,  I 
felt  in  my  bones  something  was  going  to  happen — and 
something  did,  and  that  shortly.  Lily  had  returned.'  and 
pushing  Maria  aside  ran  up  the  stairs,  and  to  our  astonish- 
ment, dashed  up  to  my  bedside  leaving  a  half  unpacked  suit 
case  on  the  doorstep. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  what  brought  you  back?"  I  cried. 

"I'se  come  back,  'cause  it  was  me  dooty  to  come  back.  I'se 
goin'  where  I  won't  be  no  daughter  of  the  family,  and  I'se 
brought  youses  tooth  brush  and  powder  back,  cause  if  I 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  109 

ain't  goin'  to  be  no  daughter  of  the  family,  I  won't  need  'em 
no  more,  and  I  didn't  want  to  take  nothin'  away  what  you 
gave  me  unless  I  could  make  good  use  of  it,"  and  Lily  shook 
my  hand  again  violently,  and  backed  out  of  the  room,  wav- 
ing an  adieu  with  one  hand  and  throwing  kisses  with  the 
other.  I  shouted  as  she  went,  "If  you've  got  anything  else 
that  you  think  belongs  to  us,  throw  it  away,  but  don't  take 
the  trouble  to  return  it,  and  mind  the  automobiles,  they're 
very  dangerous." 

"Automobiles,"  howled  Lily  derisively,  "/  eats  'em"  With 
this  defiant  challenge,  she  disappeared  once  more,  throw- 
ing kisses  at  the  window  with  as  much  enthusiasm  as  ever, 
Maria  meanwhile  waving  her  hand  encouragingly,  until  Lily 
had  faded  from  her  vision  forever. 

Lily's  tooth  cleaning  apparatus  was  deposited  in  the 
garbage  can,  and  we  both  sighed  a  sigh  of  regret,  that  our 
efforts  to  keep  Lily's  dental  china  clean  and  shiny  until  the 
end  of  her  days,  and  to  make  her  an  intellectual  and  useful 
member  of  our  small  but  select  family  had  been  dashed  to 
earth  owing  to  the  fact  that  the  girl  we  had  experimented 
on  had  never  had  a  chance — thanks  to  heredity  and  environ- 
ment— to  make  good,  and  then  when  the  opportunity  came  to 
her  she  had  not  the  ability  to  grasp  it. 

*    .        *  *  *  *  *  * 

Two  years  had  passed  away  since  fate  robbed  us  of  that 
delicate  household  flower,  Lily.  We  often  wondered  what 
had  become  of  her,  wondered  whether  she  was  married,  or 
was  still  waging  warfare  on  peaceful  homes.  One  eventful 
day  a  postal  card  arrived,  which  happily  set  forever  at  rest 
our  doubts  and  worries  regarding  her.  After  considerable 
trouble,  first  holding  the  card  upside  down,  then  downside  up ; 
eying  it  from  a  hundred  different  angles ;  deciphering  this  let- 
ter, and  failing  to  decipher  that;  using  magnifying  glasses, 
telescopes,  microscopes,  standing  on  our  heads,  and  calling  in 
high  priced  experts  on  mangled,  strangled,  new  and  old 
fangled  chirography,  Egyptian,  Syrian,  Babylonian,  etc.; 
they  finally  decided  that  a  mosquito  or  a  fly  had  crawled  into 
an  ink  bottle  with  suicidal  intent  and  had  emerged  and 
sought  a  convenient  postal  card,  on  which  to  end  its  earthly 
woes:  and  that  the  hieroglyphics  on  the  card  were  simply 
the  marks  made  by  its  inky  legs,  as  it  writhed  in  the  agoniz- 
ing throes  of  its  death  struggles.  Another  expert  in  deciph- 
ering incinerated  Chaldean  manuscripts,  emphatically  testi- 


'no  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

fied  that  it  wasn't  writing  at  all,  the  marks  having  been 
caused  by  the  card  having  violently  collided  with  a  wet  shoe 
brush.  We  showed  the  experts  to  the  door,  and  Maria  and 
I,  who  knew  Lily  as  no  expert  ever  could,  finally  made  out 
the  message  that  Lily  had  affixed  to  the  card  either  with  pen 
or  shoe  brush,  and  thus  it  ran; 

"Dere  fokses  hows  youse  fillin  i  hop  youse  fill  fine  ise  mar- 
ried 2  gus  an  hav  a  babee  6  munta  old  ise  fillin  fine  love  an  kisis 
2  youse  all.  Lily."  i 


The  slums,  the  herding  places  of  the  poor,  the  gold  mines 
of  the  stony-hearted,  society  must  destroy  or  be  destroyed  by. 
They  are  responsible  for  the  dirt,  crime,  disease  and  igno- 
rance which  slay  their  thousands  and  make  inefficient  their 
tens  of  thousands.  Spawned  by  greed,  sired  by  gold  lust,  they 
are  the  cancerous  growths  of  our  modern  civilization.  Woe 
unto  those  who  are  responsible  for  them,  and  woe  unto 
those  who  can  destroy  them  and  will  not;  these  God  will 
hold  to  an  accounting  for  the  grim  harvest  of  broken  hearts 
and  ruined  lives  which  these  deadly  plague  spots  are  ever 
bringing  to  fruition. 

For  what  slum  ever  produced  a  lily,  what  alley  a  rose  ? 


One  who  is  unable  to  move  without  assistance  in  the  course 
of  many  years  of  invalidism  is  bound  to  meet  with  blood- 
curdling experiences,  and  I  have  had  more  than  my  share  of 
them,  although  I've  had  more  care  probably  than  ordinarily 
falls  to  the  lot  of  the  helpless. 

As  long  as  a  man  has  his  legs  and  the  ability  to  move 
quickly,  he  feels  fairly  secure,  no  matter  where  he  may  be, 
for  he  knows,  no  matter  what  happens,  he  has  an  excellent 
chance  for  his  life.  Not  so  the  invalid.  The  thought  of 
uanger,  especially  from  fire,  ever  haunts  him,  and,  unless 
some  one  is  within  calling  distance,  he  never  feels  quite  se- 
cure. Only  a  few  times  in  my  invalid  life  have  I  consented 
to  be  left  alone  for  any  considerable  length  of  time. 

Little  emergencies,  however,  arise  in  the  procession  of 
years  that  call  nurse,  attendant  or  friend  from  one's  side  for 
just  a  few  minutes,  and,  if  anything  terrible  is  going  to  hap- 
pen, fate  usually  decides  that  it  is  to  happen  when  one  is 
alone,  with  no  one  to  aid  or  protect. 

When  some  one  is  near  and  help  close  at  hand,  as  a  rule 
nothing  happens,  but,  directly  one  is  alone,  there  seems  to  be  a 
convention  of  all  the  hoodoos,  Jonahs,  jinxs  and  other  hide- 
ous denizens  of  the  unseen  world  of  horrors,  who  quickly  get 
their  diabolical  heads  together  and  decide  upon  some  fiendish 
scheme  to  bring  one  to  the  gates  of  death,  or  even  to  push 
one  through  its  gloomy  portals. 

When  I  first  became  an  invalid,  I  had  no  thought  of 
danger.  I  did  not  realize  that  I  had  lost  my  ability  to  pro- 
tect myself  when  menaced  by  fire  by  being  able  to  move 
swiftly  to  a  place  of  safety.  It  is  generally  some  terrifying 
experience  that  makes  one  lose  one's  nerve,  and  forever  after 
fills  one  with  anxiety  and  worry,  if  left  alone  for  any  length  of 
time.  It  is  the  scared  as  well  as  the  burnt  child  who  dreads 
the  fire.  So  many  distressing  things  can  happen  in  a  few 
minutes,  and,  should  the  experience  cover  but  a  few  seconds 

in 


112  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

of  actual  time,  it  always  seems  an  age,  a  century,  ere  with  a 
sigh  of  relief  you  realize  all  danger  is  past. 

Most  people  have  a  horror  of  fire,  but  no  one  has  the 
slightest  conception  of  how  a  whiff  of  smoke,  blown  sud- 
denly through  a  room  where  a  helpless  human  lies  alone — 
especially  in  the  still  hours  of  night — can  fill  that  anchored 
body  with  a  feeling  of  anguish  and  dread. 

Fire,  more  than  any  other  agency  of  death,  has  a  terror 
for  the  helpless.  The  tornado  may  give  one  a  chance,  the 
•burglar  may  have  pity,  but  a  wisp  of  flame  in  one's  room  with 
no  one  to  check  its  onrush,  and  a  horrible  death  must  quickly 
result. 

When  the  incident  I  am  about  to  relate  happened,  I  had 
already  had  two  experiences  with  fire  that  utterly  prostrated 
me  for  weeks  and  left  an  impression  on  my  mind  that  will 
never  be  effaced.  To  come  unscathed  from  such  experiences 
does  not  erase  from  the  memory  the  terror  of  the  event. 

But  to  my  story.  I  was  alone  one  winter  morning  in  the 
second  story  of  an  apartment  house.  My  attendant  had  gone 
to  the  cellar  to  help  a  lady  living  above  us,  find  some  articles 
in  her  bin,  which  happened  to  be  next  to  ours.  He  was 
boiling  something  on  the  gas  stove  in  the  kitchen,  and  I  had 
also  two  gas  jets  burning  in  my  room,  which  adjoined  the 
kitchen,  as  the  morning  was  exceptionally  cold  and  the  radi- 
ator was  dispensing  very  little  heat.  The  door  of  my  room, 
which  opened  directly  onto  the  private  hall  of  our  floor,  and 
also  the  kitchen  door,  were  wide  open. 

I  had  my  attendant  promise  faithfully  that  he  would  re- 
turn within  ten  minutes,  and  nothing,  no  matter  how  impor- 
tant he  might  deem  it,  was  to  keep  him  away  one  second 
longer  than  the  time  agreed  upon.  The  lady  with  him  also 
promised  that  they  would  not  be  gone  more  than  ten  min- 
utes. 

"Don't  worry,"  said  she;  "we'll  both  be  back  in  a  moment 
or  two."  I  was  not  the  least  bit  perturbed,  for  my  attend- 
ant was  faithful  and  thoughtful,  only  having  one  bad  habit, 
which  on  this  occasion  nearly  brought  my  earthly  career  to 
a  sudden  finish.  When  he  got  into  conversation  with  anyone, 
he  was  liable  to  think  that  hours  were  minutes  and  minutes 
were  seconds.  It  was  this  failing  that  on  this  occasion  almost 
brought  about  a  tragedy. 

As  the  door  of  the  flat  closed  upon  them,  I  resumed  my 
work,  and,  without  any  thought  of  danger,  concentrated 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  113 

my  mind  on  some  lyrics  I  was  writing.  I  heard  the  bubbling 
of  water  that  was  merrily  boiling  something  for  our  midday 
meal.  I  toiled  away,  taking  no  notice  of  the  flying  minutes, 
my  mind  too  busily  engaged  with  my  work  to  think  of  or 
heed  any  signs  of  danger.  Suddenly  an  ominous  silence,  a 
silence  of  the  grave,  fell  upon  the  room.  I  noticed  it  in- 
stantly, but  for  a  moment  could  not  tell  what  had  caused  it. 
The  clock  had  not  stopped  ticking,  the  distant  murmur  of 
traffic  had  not  ceased;  what  was  the  trouble? 

Before  I  could  find  the  explanation  an  ominous  odor 
struck  my  nostrils,  and  in  an  instant  beads  of  perspiration, 
cold  and  clammy,  stood  out  on  my  forehead.  It  was  gas,  gas 
more  deadly  than  dynamite.  In  a  moment  I  sensed  it  all. 
The  water  had  boiled  over  and  extinguished  the  flame  of  the 
gas  stove,  but,  oh  !  horror/  it  had  not  extinguished  or  stopped 
the  deadly  fumes  that  were  rapidly  filling  the  room. 

Now  I  grasped  it  all,  the  whole  dreadful  thing,  looming  up 
hideously  and  mockingly.  A  grinning  spectral  figure,  with 
clawlike,  fleshless,  bony  hands,  seemed  to  be  standing  beside 
me,  the  hideous  face  with  its  socketless  eyes  enjoying  my 
agony  of  mind,  reveling  with  delight  at  the  horror  of  my 
predicament  and  glorying  in  the  approaching  tragedy,  the 
consummation  of  which  it  evidently  awaited  with  delight. 

Everything  was  still,  everything  as  quiet  as  a  deserted 
graveyard.  I  looked  at  the  clock — twenty-five  minutes  had 
elapsed  since  my  attendant  and  neighbor  had  left  me.  Oh ! 
why  hadn't  they  kept  their  promise  ?  Ah !  of  course  they  did 
not  know,  they  did  not  realize  any  danger  could  come.  My 
little  attendant  was  indulging  his  one  failing.  He  had  lost  all 
conception  of  time.  Now  that  he  was  in  conversation  with 
another,  I  was  forgotten.  He  deemed  it  rude  to  excuse  him- 
self and  go,  and  could  not  break  away,  but  she,  that  thought- 
less woman,  why  did  not  she  remember?  She  knew  that 
something  was  boiling  on  the  stove.  I  had  told  them  of  the 
danger  of  this  and  warned  them  to  return  quickly.  Did  she 
not  realize  that  the  water  might  boil  over,  put  out  the  flame, 
and  that  the  deadly  gas  would  enter  my  room  from  the 
kitchen,  was  entering  it  now,  faster  and  faster  every  moment, 
and  in  a  few  seconds  more  the  lighted  jets  above  my  bed 
which  were  burning  with  grim  steadiness  would  ignite  the 
deadly  vapor,  and  a  terrific  explosion  would  ensue,  which 
would  blow  out  the  side  of  a  five-story  apartment,  and  snuff 
out  my  life,  as  well  as  the  lives  of  scores  of  others? 


ii4  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  'Book 

I  did  not  know  in  what  form  death  would  come,  whether 
by  suffocation,  explosion,  fire,  or  a  combination  of  all  three. 
I  was  hoping  that  the  gas  would  first  make  me  unconscious, 
then  I  would  know  nothing  of  what  happened  after.  I  was 
beginning  to  feel  a  horrible  sensation  creeping  o'er  me.  The 
odor  of  gas  was  overpowering.  I  seized  a  towel  and  a  bottle 
of  smelling  salts,  which  were  luckily  near,  and  putting  the 
smelling  salts  to  my  nose  with  one  hand,  and  tying  the  towel 
over  my  face  from  the  eyes  down,  I  tried  to  sustain  my  [ 
heart  and  keep  from  becoming  unconscious.  I  felt  confident 
if  I  could  only  hold  out  a  few  minutes  more,  help  would 
come.  Just  then  some  one  walked  past  the  hall  door  and 
proceeded  leisurely  upstairs,  humming  a  song.  I  shouted 
with  a  voice  of  despair,  but  they  were  far  off  now,  and  heard 
not.  I  heard  some  one  move  overhead,  and  shouted  again, 
but  no  response.  Another  person  who  had  passed  the  door 
of  my  flat,  some  thirty  feet  away,  had  heard  my  voice,  but  not 
realizing  my  danger,  or  understanding  the  cause  of  the  noise, 
had  passed  on.  I  threw  three  books  at  the  windows  in  an  en- 
deavor to  smash  them  and  draw  attention  and  admit  air,  but 
the  draperies  hung  straight  down,  protecting  the  glass,  and 
the  books  fell  impotently  to  the  floor. 

Suddenly  a  thought  flashed  across  my  mind.  Oh  !  why  had 
I  not  thought  of  it  before?  There  was  a  lady  in  the  next 
apartment  whose  husband  was  a  florist  and  went  to  work 
early.  After  preparing  his  breakfast  in  the  early  morning 
hours,  it  was  her  habit  to  lie  down  for  an  hour  or  so.  The 
lounge  on  which  she  slept  was  only  separated  from  the  head 
of  my  bed  by  a  thin  brick  wall.  If  I  could  awaken  her 
within  a  few  seconds,  a  very  few  seconds,  she  could  save  my 
life;  if  not  all  was  over  for  me.  I  grasped  a  heavy  pair 
of  shears,  and  hammered  them  against  the  wall,  shouting  her 
name  as  loud  as  I  could  with  my  ebbing  strength.  I  must 
have  hammered  for  nearly  half  a  minute  and  shouted  for  half 
that  time,  but  no  response.  I  had  only  strength  to  shout 
once  more,  and  I  put  all  the  force  in  my  weak  body  into  that 
shout.  There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  and  then,  thank 
God,  a  drowsy  voice,  oh  so  faint,  muttered:  "What  is  it?" 

"Come !"  I  shouted.  "For  God's  sake,  come  quickly;  come 
by  the  fire  escape !"  My  neighbor,  though  half  asleep,  at 
once  knew  that  something  was  wrong.  Once  before  she  had 
come  to  my  rescue,  and,  though  the  fire-escape  route  needed 
courage  to  negotiate,  she  did  not  hesitate  for  a  moment.  She 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  115 

cast  off  the  drowsiness  of  sleep,  jumped  out  on  the  fire  es- 
cape and  leaped  to  my  window.  But  what  if  the  window  was 
locked?  It  would  take  several  seconds  to  break  the  glass  and 
release  the  catch.  Before  the  thought  had  flashed  across  my 
mind,  her  shadow  fell  across  the  white  spread  that  covered 
my  bed.  No  words  can  describe  what  I  felt  as  I  saw  my  res- 
cuer grasp  the  window  sash.  Heaven  be  thanked,  it  was  not 
locked !  In  a  second  she  was  in  the  room. 

"Turn  out  the  gas,"  I  said  faintly,  for  I  was  almost  uncon- 
scious. It  was  not  necessary  to  have  spoken,  as  the  odor  of 
gas  almost  caused  her  to  collapse.  She  held  to  the  bottom  of 
my  bed  with  her  left  hand,  and  with  her  right  shut  off  the 
taps  and  the  jets  were  extinguished.  There  could  be  no  ex- 
plosion now — blessed  relief  ! 

"Open  other  window,  and  shut  off  gas  stove !"  I  gasped. 

She  was  in  the  kitchen  in  another  instant,  and  I  heard  the 
gas  cocks  click  as  she  turned  off  the  murderous  vapor.  Thank 
God,  all  danger  was  over.  I  fell  back  on  the  pillow,  utterly 
exhausted,  unable  to  speak. 

Just  then  I  heard  a  sound  of  laughter,  and  my  attendant 
unlocked  the  hall  door  of  the  apartment.  The  odor  of  gas 
was  for  the  moment  more  than  he  could  stand.  He  quickly 
threw  up  all  the  windows  in  the  apartment,  and,  oh !  how 
delicious,  how  soothing,  how  exhilarating  and  revivifying 
was  that  breath  of  fresh  air,  the  life-giving  elixir,  as  it  filled 
my  lungs  and  scattered  the  deadly  gas  and  its  sickening  odor. 
My  attendant  recognized  the  lady  who  was  in  my  room,  and 
it  was  not  necessary  to  tell  him  what  had  happened.  One 
glance  at  the  kitchen  and  he  understood. 

My  rescuer  sat  down  by  my  bedside,  while  my  attendant 
gave  me  a  heart  stimulant,  and  went  in  the  hall  to  phone  for 
the  doctor,  for  at  that  time  the  phone,  which  would  have 
averted  all  the  trouble,  was  not  at  my  side. 

"That  was  the  narrowest  squeak  you  ever  had,  old  boy,  of 
ever  will  have,"  said  my  physician  when  he  arrived.  "After 
this  experience  never  allow  yourself  to  be  left  alone." 

That  incident  I  have  never  forgotten.  Often  at  night  in 
dreams  I  live  it  o'er  again,  and  wake  with  a  start  to  find  the 
perspiration  rolling  from  my  face,  and  my  lips  muttering: 
"Oh,  God,  will  they  never  come !" 


HOW  MARIA  MET  UNCLE  CHARLIE 
BY  MARIA 

It  was  in  the  fall  of  1902  that  the  spirit  of  wanderlust, 
which  has  a  habit  like  the  will  o'  the  wisp  of  dancing  in  front 
of  adventurous  humans  and  beckoning  them  with  its  flicker- 
ing and  uncertain  light  to  seek  new  scenes  and  experiences, 
induced  me  to  leave  the  Canadian  city  in  which  I  had  been 
studying  and  board  a  train  bound  for  that  seething  mael- 
strom of  humanity  and  melting  pot  of  the  races — New  York. 

I  had  no  family  ties  to  augment  the  wrench  of  parting  from 
the  old  and  tried,  or  add  another  thrill  of  half  fearful,  half 
delightful  and  wholly  curious  anticipations  of  what  fate 
might  have  in  store  for  me  in  the  mighty  metropolis  to  which 
I  was  going.  I,  however,  did  have  some  very  dear  friends, 
and,  when  all  the  good-bys  were  said  and  the  train  rolled  out 
of  the  depot,  I  felt  just  about  as  lonesome  as  it's  possible 
for  anyone  to  feel,  and  for  a  moment  wished  that  wander- 
lust spirit  had  not  waved  his  lantern  so  compellingly  or 
beckoned  so  alluringly  to  me  to  follow  him. 

I'm  not  going  to  tell  you  how  young  I  was  when  I  started 
on  this  adventure,  because  if  I  did  some  mathematical  expert 
might  try  to  figure  out  how  old  I  am  now,  and  as  I've  reached 
that  stage  on  life's  journey  where  I  don't  run  around  telling 
everyone  my  age,  I  don't  feel  like  giving  you  that  oppor- 
tunity. 

When,  after  an  all-night  journey,  the  train  rolled  into  the 
Grand  Central  Depot,  and  I  emerged  on  the  street,  after 
dodging  several  importunate  boys,  all  determined  to  carry 
my  suit  case,  and  running  the  gantlet  of  a  string  of  wait- 

U6 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  117 

ing  cabs,  the  owners  of  which  expressed  an  intense  desire  to 
convey  me  to  any  part  of  the  city  I  might  designate,  a  re- 
quest I  had  to  refuse  on  account  of  the  slim  condition  of  my 
pocketbook,  and  also  because  I  had  heard  of  the  exorbitant 
charges  of  New  York  cabmen,  I  looked  around  bewildered, 
amid  the  hurry  and  bustle  of  pedestrians,  the  clang  of  cars, 
the  rumble  of  passing  vehicles,  the  shouting  of  newsboys 
and  fruit  venders,  and  the  thousand  and  one  noisy  activities 
that  make  up  the  sum  total  of  life  in  a  big  city. 

I  had  an  introduction  from  a  friend  of  mine  to  the  Y.  W. 
C.  A.  of  Brooklyn.  That  was  my  objective  point,  but  the 
query  was  how  to  get  there.  I  had  received  countless  direc- 
tions from  the  above-mentioned  friend,  but  somehow  I  could 
not  remember  a  single  one,  and,  though  I'd  had  them  all 
carefully  written  out,  I  could  not  find  the  paper  on  which 
they  were  recorded.  I  espied  a  friendly  looking  representa- 
tive of  the  majesty  of  the  law,  and,  remembering  the  old 
adage,  "Tell  your  troubles  to  a  policeman,"  I  went  up  and 
unburdened  my  woes  to  him.  He  not  only  gave  me  explicit 
directions,  but  put  me  on  a  car  that  would  take  me  to  Brook- 
lyn Bridge,  then  told  me  what  car  to  take  from  that  point  in 
order  to  reach  my  destination. 

On  reaching  Brooklyn  Bridge  I  was  just  in  time  to  see 
an  interesting  and,  to  a  newcomer,  a  somewhat  bewildering 
sight,  namely,  the  influx  of  Brooklyn's  toiling  hordes  to  their 
daily  tasks  in  New  York  City,  and  when  you  take  into  con- 
sideration the  fact  that  over  300,000  souls,  who  live  in  Brook- 
lyn and  work  in  New  York,  pass  to  and  fro  over  that  bridge 
daily,  morning  and  evening,  you  will  get  a  faint  conception 
of  the  immense  amount  of  human  traffic  that  converges  at 
one  end  of  that  structure,  is  swiftly  conveyed  over  the  flash- 
ing steel  rails,  suspended  by  man's  genius  far  above  the  tur- 
bid waters  of  the  East  River,  and  vomited  out  at  the  other. 

I  stood  watching  this  busy  scene  for  some  time  in  fasci- 
nated wonder,  as  car  after  car  came  clanging  in,  unloading 

v 


1 1 8  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

its  human  freight,  and  immediately  starting  on  its  return 
journey;  then,  seeing  the  car  I  had  been  directed  to  take 
come  sweeping  into  line,  I  boarded  it,  and  about  twenty  min- 
utes later  was  interviewing  the  superintendent  of  the  Y.  W. 
C.  A.  and  negotiating  for  a  room.  My  references  proving 
satisfactory,  I  was  graciously  given  permission  to  occupy  a 
room  in  that  sacred  but  somewhat  expensive  establishment, 
for  the  sum  of  one  dollar  per  day.  What  welcome  would 
have  been  accorded  me  had  my  references  proved  unsatis- 
factory, or  if  I  had  not  come  armed  with  these  certificates 
of  respectability,  I  leave  to  the  imagination  of  the  reader. 

After  washing  the  cinders  from  my  eyes,  and  removing  the 
dust  of  travel  from  my  clothing,  I  again  sought  the  superin- 
tendent to  inquire  if  she  had  any  positions  listed  as  the  Y.  W. 
C.  A.  runs  an  employment  agency.  I  was  informed  they 
had  only  one  in  my  line  of  work,  a  sanitarium,  where  they 
required  a  nurse  for  night  duty,  and,  on  receiving  a  card  of 
introduction  and  full  directions  as  to  how  to  reach  the  place, 
I  started  out  in  search  of  my  first  job  in  New  York,  stop- 
ping at  a  restaurant  en  route  to  get  some  breakfast. 

I  duly  reached  my  destination,  a  red  frame  building,  stand- 
ing in  its  own  grounds.  It  had  at  one  time  been  the  residence 
of  a  millionaire,  and  still  retained  traces  of  its  former 
grandeur.  It  seemed  to  stand  aloof  and  regard  with  disdain 
the  modern  apartment  and  two-family  houses  by  which  it  was 
.surrounded,  much  as  an  ancient  dowager  would  regard  the 
/oung,  self-assured  members  of  the  nouveau  riche,  who  had 
forced  their  way  into  her  exclusive  social  circle. 

On  inquiring  for  the  superintendent,  I  was  informed  she 
was  out,  but  would  be  in  shortly,  and  was  invited  to  take  a 
seat  in  the  reception  room.  The  interior  of  the  house  bore 
out  and  emphasized  the  impression  I  had  received  from  the 
exterior,  the  impression  of  a  grandeur  that  had  existed,  but 
was  now  rapidly  vanishing,  the  whole  building  being  engaged 
with  its  back  to  the  wall,  and  with  daily  lessening  vigor,  in 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  119 

a  mortal  combat  with  Father  Time  and  his  handmaid,  Decay. 

The  superintendent  arrived  shortly,  and,  after  a  brief  in- 
terview, I  was  engaged  to  come  and  begin  my  duties  the  fol- 
lowing evening.  Promptly  to  the  minute  I  appeared,  and 
after  supper  (previous  to  which  I  had  been  introduced  to  the 
nurses  who  were  on  day  duty)  the  head  nurse  escorted  me 
through  the  wards,  introducing  me  to  the  various  patients 
and  giving  me  instructions  as  to  what  they  would  require 
during  the  night. 

I  now  found  the  sanitarium  was  in  the  habit  of  accommo- 
dating incurable  cases  only,  and  that  not  a  patient  there  ever 
expected  to  be  well  again,  or  had  any  hope  of  leaving  the 
place,  until  the  angel  of  death  should  call  them  hence,  or 
their  friends,  upon  whose  bounty  they  largely  depended, 
should  grow  tired  of  paying  their  board,  in  which  case  they 
would  exchange  their  quarters  in  the  sanitarium  for  a  shelter 
in  the  poorhouse. 

On  the  first  floor  were  the  reception  room,  the  doctor's 
office,  the  dining  room,  etc.  The  second  floor  was  devoted  to 
women  patients,  and  the  superintendent's  room.  On  the  top 
floor,  under  the  roof,  were  the  men,  and  the  nurses'  and 
servants'  quarters;  and  with  each  succeeding  flight  of  stairs 
the  one-time  grandeur  of  the  place  was  less  in  evidence  and 
the  decay  more  apparent. 

After  being  introduced  to  the  women,  we  ascended  another 
flight  of  stairs  and  entered  the  men's  ward.  This  was  a  long, 
narrow  room,  containing  twelve  beds,  only  four  of  which 
were  occupied.  The  walls  had  at  one  time  been  decorated, 
but  now  whole  portions  of  paper  had  peeled  off,  showing  the 
plaster  underneath,  and  in  some  places  the  plaster  also  had 
come  away,  exposing  the  laths.  The  gentleman  who  built  the 
house  had  either  been  unable  to  design  a  furnace  big  enough 
to  heat  the  top  floor,  or  did  not  think  it  needed  heating ;  any- 
way, a  small  gas  stove  in  the  middle  of  the  room  (the 
anaemic  flame  of  which  only  seemed  to  give  a  keener  edge  to 


I2O  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  'Book 

the  cold)  was  the  only  means  provided  for  warming  it.  The 
windows  looked  as  though  they  had  not  been  cleaned  for  half 
a  century,  except  when  a  friendly  shower  of  rain  had  tried 
to  wash  some  of  the  accumulated  particles  of  dirt  away,  and 
had  only  been  partially  successful,  forming  little  runlets  and 
streaks  where  the  drops  had  rolled  down  the  pane.  Alto- 
gether it  had  a  dreary  and  desolate  appearance,  and  I  could 
not  repress  a  shiver  as  I  looked  around  me. 

Of  the  four  men  who  occupied  the  room,  one  was  in- 
sane and  had  a  propensity  for  waking  up  in  the  middle  of  the 
night,  shouting :  "Police!  Fire!  Murder !"  refusing  to  stop 
until  a  sedative  put  him  out  of  business  again  for  a  while, 
and,  needless  to  say,  disturbing  the  rest  of  the  unfortunate 
occupants  of  the  room,  and  sometimes  of  the  whole  house  as 
well. 

The  second  man  was  blind,  and  as  long  as  he  had  plenty 
to  eat  did  not  concern  himself  much  with  anything,  the  qual- 
ity of  the  food  not  bothering  him  in  the  least  as  long  as  the 
quantity  was  in  evidence.  The  third  man  was  a  little  hunch- 
back, who  had  lived  in  institutions  all  his  life,  and  knew 
nothing  of  the  outside  world.  The  fourth  occupant  of  the 
room,  as  you  probably  already  have  guessed,  was  Uncle 
Charlie,  and  it  was  in  that  room  where  he  had  spent  years  of 
misery,  and  amid  these  wretched  surroundings  that  Maria 
first  met  him. 

He  was  young,  still  in  his  thirties,  but  the  years  of  physi- 
cal suffering  and  of  struggling  with  financial  worries  had  left 
their  mark  on  him.  He  was  thin  to  gauntness,  nothing  but  a 
living  skeleton,  and  it  seemed  impossible  that  one  so  ema- 
ciated could  live  and  work. 

It  was  a  remarkable  face  that  I  gazed  upon,  banked  by  its 
background  of  pillows.  It  was  the  face  of  a  thinker,  and  of 
one  who  has  suffered,  and  who  through  suffering  has  been 
granted  a  keener  insight  into  things  than  falls  to  the  lot  of 
ordinary  mortals.  It  was  a  face  a  sculptor  would  have 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  121 

gloried  in  had  he  wanted  a  model  from  which  to  chisel  in 
marble  a  head  of  Shakespeare,  or  an  artist,  had  he  wanted  to 
portray  on  canvas  an  ideal  conception  of  the  "Man  of  Sor- 
rows." 

What  impressed  me  most  was  a  massive  forehead  and  a 
pair  of  wonderful  dark-brown  eyes;  eyes  that  looked  as  if 
they  had  plumbed  all  the  depths  of  sorrow  the  world  con- 
tains, but  in  spite  of  that  seemed  yet  to  nurse  an  unconquer- 
able hope.  I  found  out  afterward  when  I  knew  him  better 
that  these  same  eyes  could  glint  with  humor  and  sparkle  with 
laughter,  and  I  also  found  that,  in  spite  of  his  helpless  body 
and  miserable  surroundings,  he  had  a  better  grasp  of  the 
great  questions  of  the  day,  a  clearer  vision  regarding  their 
solution,  and  a  greater  knowledge  of  the  progress  of  world 
events  and  their  relation  to  each  other,  than  most  of  those 
men  whose  business  it  is  to  make  a  study  of  national  affairs. 
Perhaps  his  isolated  position  stranded  high  and  dry  in  his 
desolate  attic,  far  away  from  the  busy  marts  of  men,  gave 
him  more  perspective,  and  enabled  him  to  view  more  under- 
standingly  the  various  political,  social,  commercial  and  eco- 
nomic problems  in  the  solution  of  which  the  nations  of  the 
world  are  engaged,  much  as  an  onlooker  at  a  game  can  dis- 
cern more  clearly  what  is  taking  place,  and  what  is  going  to 
be  the  outcome  of  the  contest,  than  those  who  are  partici- 
pating in  it. 

At  the  time  I  met  him  he  was  just  beginning  to  make 
headway  in  his  long,  uphill  struggle  to  woo  fickle  fortune  by 
his  pen.  Success  had  been  flirting  with  him  around  the  cor- 
ner, but  she  had  not  yet  come  out  into  the  open,  and  led  him 
into  those  brighter  paths,  where  financial  worries  were  not 
ever  near  to  scourge  and  harass. 

As  I  became  better  acquainted  with  him,  I  was  astounded 
and  amazed  by  the  indomitable  energy,  dogged  perseverance, 
cheerful  optimism  and  surprising  versatility  of  the  man.  He 
simply  was  unconquerable.  When  disappointments  fell  thick 


122  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  'Book 

and  fast  around  him,  he  never  stopped  to  complain  or  repine, 
he  simply  went  on  working.  When  some  poem,  play  or  lyric 
he  had  written  was  accepted,  he  never  let  up  his  work  to  re- 
joice, he  just  kept  on  turning  out  more  and  more  "stuff." 
At  the  first  streak  of  light  you  found  him  with  pen  and  paper 
scribbling  away,  and  until  the  gas  was  turned  out  at  night  he 
was  busy.  When  success  smiled  on  him  he  did  not  stop  his 
efforts;  when  failures  came,  he  met  them  with  more  effort. 
To  quote  from  Rudyard  Kipling,  he  had  learned 

To  meet  both  triumph  and  disaster, 

And  treat  those  two  impostors  just  the  same. 

And  his  panacea  for  both  was  work,  ever  more  work.  His 
brain  seemed  an  inexhaustible  well;  the  more  he  drew  from 
it,  the  more  seemed  to  flow  into  it. 

It  was  also  during  this  period  that  he  received  his  first 
check  from  Comfort  for  a  poem  he  had  sent  them,  a  check 
which  marked  the  beginning  of  his  long  connection  with  that 
magazine,  a  connection  which  was  to  considerably  widen  the 
field  of  his  work  and  the  scope  of  his  influence. 

Through  all  his  uphill  struggle  with  sickness,  adversity  and 
wretched  surroundings,  he  never  lost  his  fund  of  cheerfulness, 
nor  his  firm  faith  in  God  and  the  future  of  humanity  and 
its  ultimate  destiny  when  it  shall  have  learned  to  be  less 
grasping,  less  selfish,  less  ready  to  exploit  the  many  so  that 
the  few  may  live  in  luxury;  in  other  words,  each  to  do  unto 

j  the  other  as  he  would  wish  to  be  done  by. 

*  He  fought  the  fate  that  had  crippled  his  body  and  flung 
him  a  shattered  wreck  on  humanity's  scrap  heap  with  a  cour- 
age that  has  seldom  been  equaled  and  never  surpassed.  He 
fought  her  incessantly,  inch  by  inch,  and  finally  he  won  out. 
Success  took  him  by  the  hand  and  led  him  into  pleasanter 
surroundings,  and  to  where  the  bread  and  butter  problem 
was  no  longer  such  a  pressing  one. 
When  about  a  year  after  I  first  knew  him,  and  some  time 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  123 

before  I  went  to  a  new  position,  he  was  able  to  move  to  a 
home  of  his  own,  and  say  good-by  to  institutions,  we  all  re- 
joiced and  joined  in  wishing  him  God-speed,  and,  when  some 
two  and  a  half  years  later  he  needed  a  nurse  and  secretary, 
I  accepted  the  position,  and  here  I  have  been  since.  Here 
Uncle  Charlie  keeps  working  whenever  his  health  permits, 
just  as  busily  as  in  his  sanitarium  days.  It  has  been  my 
privilege  to  help  him  in  that  work,  though  my  help  has 
merely  consisted  of  looking  after  his  bodily  needs,  and 
transcribing  his  monthly  messages  on  the  typewriter  as  the 
words  fall  from  his  lips. 

Thanks  to  his  ability  to  impress  his  personality  on  the  mil- 
lions to  whom  his  writings  have  given  a  vision  and  a  hope, 
the  dark  clouds  of  financial  worry,  which  overhung  the  early 
years  of  his  invalidism,  have  been  lifted,  and  he  is  now  able 
to  give  his  whole  attention  to  the  work  dearest  to  his  heart, 
namely,  the  educating  of  the  millions  who  wait  eagerly 
for  his  monthly  messages  to  a  knowledge  of  that  better 
era  that  is  dawning  for  humanity,  when  the  brotherhood 
of  man  will  no  longer  be  an  empty  phrase,  but  a  living 
reality.  Over  the  snow-capped  mountain  peaks  of  time  his 
clear  eyes  have  seen  that  dawn  approaching,  and  with  tongue 
and  pen  he  is  laboring  titanically  to  induce  humanity  to  rub 
the  sleep  of  centuries  from  its  eyes  and  arise  and  glimpse  it. 

He  is  no  longer  the  emaciated  skeleton  of  the  days  when  I 
first  met  him,  but,  though  his  body  is  now  well  nourished,  his 
sufferings  are  more  acute,  and  there  is  scarcely  a  day  or  an 
hour  in  which  he  is  free  from  pain,  but  his  spirit  remains 
undaunted,  and  his  hope  for  and  love  of  humanity  is  just  as 
strong  as  ever,  and  when  his  summons  shall  come,  as  come  it 
must  to  us  all,  it  will  find  him  still  in  harness.  When  he  is 
called  hence  to  hear  the  "Well  done"  of  the  Master,  and  his 
winning  personality  is  only  a  memory,  and  the  material  part 
of  him,  free  from  pain  and  suffering,  rests  safe  in  the  arms 


124 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 


of  Mother  Earth,  the  only  epitaph  that  will  fitly  describe  his 
character,  and  the  guerdon  of  praise  he  would  value  most, 
should  his  untrammeled  spirit  perchance  hover  near,  ere 
seeking  that  brighter  sphere,  would  be:  "Here  lies  a  man 
who  loved  his  fellow  men." 


HOW  BILLY  THE  GOAT  MET  UNCLE  CHARLIE 
BY  THE  GOAT 

Billy  the  Goat  has  long  been  a  by-word  with  the  readers  of 
that  popular  household  monthly,  Comfort,  and  I've  a  sneak- 
ing suspicion  that,  when  you  have  referred  to  me  in  your  let- 
ters to  Uncle  Charlie,  it  has  been  with  the  idea  that  you 
were  talking  of  a  four-legged,  bewhiskered,  hairy  animal  of 
marvelous  butting  propensities  and  a  burning  desire  to  devour 
your  pet  epistles.  Wrong,  comrades,  wrong !  Though  the 
name,  tin  cans  and  degraded  appetite  suggest  as  much,  let 
me  assure  you  I  do  not  aspire  to  whiskers,  except  in  the  op- 
posite sex,  and  that  my  diet  consists  more  of  chocolate  sodas 
than  a  daily  feast  of  your  valued  letters,  and  the  only  like- 
ness I  may  have  to  the  proverbial  goat  is  my  fondness  for 
butting  in.  However,  though,  I  have  denied  my  resemblance 
to  the  animal,  nevertheless  I  am  Billy  the  Goat,  and  ready 
to  fight  like  a  goat,  or  any  other  creature  as  peevish,  if  any- 
one questions  my  right  to  the  title  which  has  brought  me 
such  nation-wide  fame. 

But  here  I  disclose  a  secret.  I  have  not  always  been  Billy 
the  Goat,  sad  but  true.  A  few  years  ago  I  was  just  a  plain, 
everyday,  ordinary  sort  of  girl,  of  which  class  there  are 
thousands;  a  pug-nosed,  fuzzy-haired,  hero-worshiping,  ad- 
venture-loving young  woman,  intensely  satisfied  with  myself 
and  the  world  in  general.  I  washed  the  dishes  for  my 
mother,  and  played  tennis  on  sunny  afternoons,  while  of 
course  my  evenings  were  devoted  to  the  usual  pastime  of  my 
sort — adding  to  my  list  of  conquests. 

However,  under  a  frivolous  exterior,  hidden  away  'neath 

125 


'126  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

layers  of  perfume,  ruffles,  dance  programs  and  powder  puffs, 
I  had  a  great  ambition  that  knocked  on  my  silly  pate  with 
untiring  persistence  in  the  daytime  and  haunted  my  dreams  at 
night.  I  wanted  to  be  an  actress,  a  great  actress.  I  longed  to 
outshine  Julia  Marlowe  and  show  Bernhardt  how  to  play 
Camille.  I  felt  that  God  had  given  me  a  great  talent — the 
ability  to  act.  And  now,  what  girl  in  the  whole  great  uni- 
verse, if  she's  a  real  wide-awake  girl,  has  not  been  so  pos- 
sessed at  some  time  of  her  career?  This  is  merely  an  inci- 
dent, my  ambition  to  delve  into  realms  theatrical,  an  ambi- 
tion that  played  its  part  in  my  life,  without  the  usual  ending 
of  headaches  and  heartaches,  trials  and  disillusionments. 
My  ambition  was  merely  labeled  wrong.  I  mistook  a  burn- 
ing desire  for  growth,  mental  growth,  and  the  longing  to  see 
life  at  its  saddest  and  merriest,  mistook  it  for  something  it 
was  not.  I  incorrectly  diagnosed  my  disease  as  "stage  fever," 
when  an  older  and  wiser  head  would  have  said,  as  did  Uncle 
Charlie,  "What  she  wants  is  life,  and  light."  My  soul  was 
indeed  hungry  for  knowledge ;  I  wanted  to  probe  beneath  the 
surface  of  life.  The  people  in  the  streets,  poor,  rich,  sick  and 
hungry — how  did  they  live,  what  did  they  live  for,  and  what 
became  of  them  when  their  usefulness  was  o'er?  I  wanted 
to  try  and  understand  the  whys  and  wherefores  of  things 
and  look  deep  into  the  troubled  heart  of  the  world. 

But,  as  I  say,  my  ambition  served  its  purpose,  and  then 
flew  away,  or,  rather,  assumed  its  right  guise,  and  finally 
brought  me  to  Uncle  Charlie,  and  that,  my  dears,  is  saying 
a  heap. 

I  began  worshiping  at  the  shrine  of  Uncle  Charlie  very 
early  in  my  "teens."  I  was  enthralled  with  the  idea  of  a  man 
bedridden  and  helpless,  sick  and  suffering,  and  with  ap- 
parently nothing  (from  youth's  point  of  view)  to  live  for, 
having  the  will  power  and  ability  to  scatter  sunshine  and  fun 
throughout  the  land,  and  to  radiate  cheerfulness  and  dis- 
pense knowledge  from  a  bed  of  pain.  I  first  "met  him"  in 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  'Book  127 

the  pages  of  a  magazine  devoted  to  the  funny  side  of  life, 
and  I  still  hold  sacred  that  publication  that  made  us  ac- 
quainted. Well,  after  great  consideration  and  midnight  pon- 
derings,  with  all  the  faith  and  assurance  of  youth,  I  sud- 
denly resolved  in  my  inmost  mind  that  here  was  the  one 
person  in  all  the  world  who  could  help  me  realize  my  heart's 
secret  ambition. 

And  so  one  day  I,  insignificant  I,  sat  down  in  a  most  se- 
cluded corner  and  wrote  to  the  brave  soul  who  had  won  my 
confidence  and  admiration,  wrote  solemnly  and  carefully, 
with  every  nerve  tingling,  and  my  heart  tapping  away  like 
forty  tack  hammers,  and  when  I  dropped  the  letter  into  a 
near-by  mail  box  a  fervent  prayer  and  a  thousand  hopes  and 
fears  went  with  it. 

What  did  I  write?  A  foolish  question,  but  a  pardonable 
one.  I  wrote  what  was  in  my  heart;  I  wrote  to  Uncle  Char- 
lie what  hitherto  had  been  tucked  away  where  no  ear  could 
hear  nor  eye  see.  Here  surely  was  proof  of  greatness,  when 
through  the  pages  of  a  magazine  one  could  make  his  per- 
sonality felt  so  strongly  as  to  call  forth  a  confession  from  an 
imaginative  girl,  though  all  suffering  editors,  I  have  since 
discovered,  are  thus  afflicted.  I've  also  discovered  that  the 
greatest  man  is  not  the  superior  being  who  sits  in  a  chair  of 
state  and  receives  his  humble  callers,  who  come  to  burn  in- 
cense at  the  altar  of  their  deity.  The  really  great  man  is  he 
who  recognizes  no  classes,  to  whom  no  worthy  one  is  an  in- 
ferior, and  to  whom  the  troubles  of  the  insignificant  are  of 
more  importance  than  the  "trials"  of  the  rich.  So  it  is  not 
surprising  that  Uncle  Charlie  answered  the  impulsive  letter 
of  a  stage-struck  schoolgirl.  His  answer,  however,  was  any- 
thing but  encouraging. 

He  informed  me  that  but  one  girl  out  of  a  thousand  who 
went  into  the  theatrical  world  made  a  success  of  it.  His  ad- 
vice was  to  remain  at  home  and  continue  the  arduous  duties 
of  a  daughter  of  the  family.  My  heart  was  at  zero,  and  I 


128  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

was  in  despair  until  I  got  to  the  very  end  of  his  letter,  where 
in  a  postscript  was  a  cordial  little  invitation  to  visit  him. 
Think  of  it !  Visit  him  ! !  Happy  ?  I  was  the  most  boister- 
ously happy  individual  who  ever  drank  a  chocolate  ice-cream 
soda  (for  of  course  I  celebrated)  and  proud?  Well,  I  should 
say.  To  receive  a  letter,  and  a  personal  one,  from  the  man 
who  had  usurped  Dickens  in  my  "Hall  of  Heroes"  was  too 
much  for  my  badly  balanced  mind,  and  I  didn't  talk  sense  for 
a  week.  I  scrambled  around,  ecstatically  hugging  every  mem- 
ber of  the  family  from  my  mother  down  to  the  family  cat, 
pleading  and  begging  them  to  let  me  go,  if  only  for  a  day,  an 
hour,  and  talk  to  him  about  my  stage  ambitions,  for,  need- 
less to  say,  Uncle  Charlie's  advice  had  only  the  effect  of  pour- 
ing oil  on  the  flames,  and  I  felt  sure  that,  if  anyone  could  as- 
sist me  in  becoming  a  modern  Mrs.  Siddons,  that  person  was 
Uncle  Charlie.  His  name  by  this  time  had  become  a  revered 
by-word  in  our  family,  and  after  a  short  correspondence  my 
visit  was  finally  and  formally  arranged  for.  My  joy  was  su- 
preme. During  the  mending,  fixing,  packing  period  that  al- 
was  precedes  a  journey,  I  was  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  bliss. 
My  only  worry  was  that  the  railroad  might  suddenly  disap- 
pear from  the  stage  of  mortal  things,  or  a  flood,  cyclone  or 
tornado  might  prevent  my  going.  To  worship  at  the  shrine 
of  my  greatest  hero,  to  meet  him,  to  hear  him  speak — all  this 
was  to  be  mine.  No  calamities  having  occurred  during  the 
three  hundred  years  which  elapsed  while  preparations  were 
being  made  for  my  journey,  the  good-bys  were  finally  said, 
the  train  came  into  the  station  at  the  psychological  moment 
when  the  tears  were  about  to  come,  and  therefore  saved  me 
the  disgrace  of  a  shiny  nose  and  weepy  eyes. 

I  feel  sure  that  no  happier  mortal  than  I  ever  trod  the 
platform  of  the  Grand  Central  Station,  New  York,  on  the 
eventful  morning  of  my  arrival  in  the  big  metropolis.  Maria 
was  there  to  meet  me,  and  the  sight  of  her  filled  me  with 
joy  and  relief,  for  I  confess  I  had  harbored  a  fear  that  she 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  129 

might  be  a  spinster  of  the  curl  paper  variety,  and  instead  I 
found — a  big  sister,  a  girl  like  myse'lf,  who  could  laugh  quite 
merrily  at  a  joke  and  whose  trim  tailored  suit  of  blue  serge 
showed  to  advantage  the  slender,  supple  lines  of  her  figure, 
and  whose  natty  blue  toque  brought  out  the  warm  blue  of  her 
eyes,  which  were  smiling  at  me  with  the  greatest  friendship 
and  welcome.  It  is  surely  a  marvel  that  she  ever  survived 
the  somewhat  lengthy  journey  to  the  suburban  home  of  Uncle 
Charlie,  for  I  kept  up  a  continuous  string  of  questions  and 
comments,  and  know  she  must  have  sighed  with  relief  when 
the  conductor  called  out  the  name  of  our  avenue.  Then  with 
my  journey  almost  ended,  and  the  longing  of  weeks  about  to 
be  realized,  I  suddenly  became  serious.  It  was  a  quiet,  wide- 
eyed  girl  that  Maria  ushered  into  an  exquisite  room  of 
medium  size,  just  the  sort  of  room  you  fit  up  in  your  im- 
agination for  your  favorite  hero,  in  which  all  blended  and 
harmonized,  soft  draperies  and  exquisite  pictures  and  books, 
books,  books !  It  had  not  the  air  of  a  sick  room,  it  had  not 
the  odor  of  an  invalid's  chamber,  but  instead  it  was  the  study 
and  workroom  of  a  genius,  the  sanctum  of  a  man  of  won- 
ders, who,  lying  on  his  bed  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  held  out 
a  thin,  white,  welcoming  hand  to  Billy  the  Goat. 

At  last!  I  was  gazing  into  his  face,  gazing  at  the  large, 
grave  brown  eyes  that  told  of  suffering  and  sorrow,  and  yet 
with  a  sparkle  in  their  depths  that  promised  oceans  of  fun 
and  the  ability  to  make  the  most  of  life  as  he  found  it.  In 
less  than  a  moment  I  was  made  comfortable  and  at  ease,  and 
was  sitting  by  his  bedside,  chatting  as  if  I  had  known  him 
all  my  life.  I  was  as  happy  as  the  proverbial  clam  at  high 
tide,  and,  while  we  exchanged  our  first  greetings,  my  eyes 
and  ears  were  working  overtime,  observing  everything  in 
that  charming  room,  from  the  brass  match  safe  on  the  table 
by  my  side  to  the  piano  heaped  high  with  Uncle  Charlie's 
own  compositions. 

I  think  one  of  the  things  that  impressed  me  most  at  first, 


130  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

was  my  host's  voice.  It  was  deep,  vibrant  and  musical,  a 
matinee  idol  voice,  the  more  remarkable  because  of  its  com- 
ing from  a  man  whose  bodily  strength  had  almost  entirely 
ebbed. 

After  we  had  become  thoroughly  acquainted,  Maria 
showed  me  to  the  room  where  I  was  to  deposit  my  goods  and 
chattels,  and,  after  powdering  my  nose  and  smoothing  my 
fuzzy  locks,  I  trotted  back  to  Uncle  Charlie's  room,  pre- 
pared to  pour  into  his  sympathetic  ears  my  heart's  story.  I 
need  not  have  prepared  myself,  however,  for,  when  I  was 
comfortably  seated  beside  him,  I  suddenly  discovered,  much 
to  my  amazement  and  the  discomfiture  of  my  ego,  that,  com- 
pared to  Uncle  Charlie's  life  and  interests,  mine  were  the 
most  uninteresting  and  insignificant  in  the  world.  It  was 
about  this  time  that  I  commenced  to  lose  interest  in  myself 
and  see  things  going  on  about  me. 

Those  first  few  days  were  a  revelation  to  me;  it  was  as 
though  some  window  in  my  soul  had  been  suddenly  opened, 
and  I  was  gazing  on  another  world  full  of  inspiring  things 
that  I  never  before  dreamed  existed,  or  could  exist.  Coming 
from  a  sphere  where  hats  and  gowns,  cake  recipes  and  popu- 
lar songs  were  the  chief  topics  of  conversation  into  an  idealis- 
tic little  world,  where  great  questions  of  the  day  were  com- 
mon table  talk,  was  startling  to  say  the  least.  Hitherto  my  silly 
noodle  had  been  the  catch-all  for  such  remnants  as  I  could 
gather  from  a  coterie  of  frivolous  pals,  a  smattering  of  super- 
ficial knowledge  and  a  great  deal  of  fun.  Woman  suffrage  I 
had  been  told  was  an  unwomanly  fad,  showing  sex  deteriora- 
tion, a  thing  not  fit  for  a  young  lady  to  think  of.  These  were 
my  mother's  words,  and  since  I  have  become  capable  of  dis- 
tinguishing right  from  wrong,  and  dark  from  light,  I  see 
with  horror  that  she  of  all  women  needed  a  vote  above  every- 
thing else.  Woman  Suffrage  was  one  of  the  first  lessons  I 
learned  from  the  book  of  justice,  under  Uncle  Charlie's  tute- 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  131 

lage,  and  Billy  the  Goat  now  yells  loudly  and  lustily,  "Votes 
for  women." 

Would  that  you  all  could  hear  the  eloquent  appeal  made  by 
Uncle  Charlie  for  woman's  enfranchisement,  the  most  cry- 
ing need  of  the  day. 

A  week  at  Uncle  Charlie's  is  like  reading  a  book  of  seven 
chapters,  each  chapter  disclosing  some  new  and  interesting 
phase.  For  bright  ideas  and  worth-while  thoughts  make 
even  prosaic  tasks  a  pleasure. 

With  the  first  dim  rays  of  the  early  morning  sun  Uncle 
Charlie  is  reading,  studying,  pasting  and  clipping,  always 
stocking  and  restocking  the  storehouse  of  his  brain  with  ma- 
terial on  which  to  talk  to  his  enormous  reading  family.  This 
acquired  knowledge  of  things  modern  and  questions  vital 
takes  time,  study,  research  and  infinite  patience. 

Brought  up  in  an  atmosphere  where  one's  thoughts  were 
all  of  self,  and  then  suddenly  transplanted  to  a  household 
where  others  are  considered  first,  and  one's  favorite  pronoun 
— I — fades  into  insignificance,  was  a  refreshing  change.  Thus 
it  is  when  Mr.  Brown  is  studying  baseball  news,  and  Mrs. 
Brown  is  pondering  with  wrinkled  brow  and  troubled  mind 
upon  the  advisability  of  having  a  slit  skirt  or  a  hobble,  that 
Uncle  Charlies  and  his  household,  with  the  welfare  of  all  hu- 
manity at  heart,  are  striving  with  all  the  force  at  their  com- 
mand to  find  ways  and  means  to  better  conditions  and  en- 
lighten the  ignorant  and  the  poor,  so  they  may  be  ignorant 
and  poor  no  longer. 

Conversation  never  lags  nor  drags.  There  is  a  constant  ex- 
change of  ideas.  That  is  an  education  in  itself.  Uncle  Char- 
lie is  and  always  has  been  a  tease.  The  saddest  story  has  its 
funny  side,  the  most  serious  question  its  joke.  There  are 
long,  dark  periods  when  the  house  is  dim  and  quiet,  doctors 
come  and  go,  spoons  clink  against  the  side  of  glasses,  and 
Maria  and  myself  hover  around  sober  and  subdued ;  though 
the  doctor  may  be  hopeful,  though  we  are  told  the  danger 


132  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

period  is  past,  still  we  know,  as  outsiders  never  could,  when 
the  change  for  the  better  comes,  for  it  comes  in  a  quivering 
of  pain-shot  eyelids,  a  slight  movement  of  a  tortured  body, 
and  the  voice  that  even  sickness  cannot  rob  of  its  vibrant 
quality  remarks:  "Well,  you  solemn-eyed,  long- faced  owls; 
what  are  you  moaning  about?  I'm  all  right  now;  do,  like 
good  girls,  go  and  get  some  sleep." 

And  then  Maria  and  myself  hug  ourselves  estatically  and 
know  that  for  the  present  at  least  the  grim  destroyer  has  fled 
from  our  vicinity,  and  we  are  happy  once  more. 

There  were  mornings  less  than  three  years  ago  when  we 
were  aroused  from  our  slumbers  by  a  rich,  vibrant,  powerful 
voice  rising  and  falling  on  the  morning  air,  in  the  mazes 
of  glorious  song.  This  was  Uncle  Charlie's  salute  to  the 
dawning  day,  and  at  night  in  tones  more  subdued,  but  won- 
derfully solemn  and  impressive,  I  would  lie  and  listen  to  the 
same  voice  raised  in  prayer,  pathetically  pleading  to  a  higher 
power  for  guidance  and  light.  To-day  both  song  and  prayer 
are  almost  hushed. 

In  the  olden  days  one  of  my  favorite  stunts  was  to  gather  a 
bunch  of  girl  friends,  five  or  six  of  them,  and  bring  them  in 
to  spend  an  evening.  This  was  a  treat  to  the  girls,  and  a  de- 
light to  Uncle  Charlie,  who  would  put  his  work  aside  and 
amuse  the  whole  crowd  (squatted  around  in  all  positions  on 
chair,  floor  and  sofa,  a  plate  of  ice  cream  in  each  lap)  ador- 
ing with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  youth  while  he  entertained  us 
with  song  and  story  as  only  a  professional  entertainer  can. 

A  happy  and  progressive  household  is  that  o'er  which  the 
"Poet"  (as  he  is  better  and  more  affectionately  known  to  his 
most  intimate  friends  and  small  family)  reigns.  Here  no 
one  is  condemned  without  a  fair  trial,  and  where  the  happy 
little  god,  with  his  conventional  paraphernalia  of  bows,  ar- 
rows and  immodest  attire,  reigns  supreme,  and  justice  is  the 
password. 

Here  one  has  the  privilege  of  meeting  people  of  national 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  133 

fame,  actors,  authors,  artists  and  ministers,  who  come  to 
worship  at  the  shrine  of  him  we  love.  Nothing  more  beauti- 
ful and  inspiring  could  be  possibly  imagined  than  to  see  that 
noble  soul,  the  grand  gray  poet,  Edwin  Markham,  sitting  at 
Uncle  Charlie's  bedside,  discussing  eloquently  with  him  what 
the  former  has  so  beautifully  expressed  as  "the  large  ques- 
tions of  time  and  eternity." 

Sick  or  well,  the  soul  of  this  man  is  ever  the  same,  and  the 
grave  brown  eyes  are  ever  ready  to  twinkle  with  laughter, 
and  scarcely  a  day  passes  that  the  little  demons  of  teasedom 
do  not  tempt  him  to  bring  forth  a  roar  of  laughter  as  a  re- 
sult of  a  good-natured  sally  at  the  expense  of  Billy  the  Goat 

REITA  ALICE  LAMBERT  (THE  GOAT). 


THE  GLORIOUS  FOURTH,  AND  HOW  WE  GOT  IT, 
(Kind  Permission  of  the  New  York  Herald) 

rA  'Dramatic  Sketch 

Characters — King   George,   Washington,   The   American 
Boy,  the  Goddess  of  Liberty. 

(Washington  and  King  George  enter  arm  in  arm  from 
center.) 

WASHINGTON 

Most  noble  liege  and  mighty  king, 
The  colonies  to  you  now  cling 
With  fond  allegiance,  and  we  pray 
To  live  beneath  your  royal  sway. 
No  better  monarch,  Sire,  than  you 
E'er  reigned  o'er  people  tried  and  true. 
We're  ever  loyal,  I  give  my  word, 
To  you,  illustrious  George  the  Third. 

KING  GEORGE 

Thanks,  thanks,  most  noble  Washington. 
I'm  glad  the  people's  hearts  I've  won — 
I'm  glad  contentment  now  doth  reign 
From  Florida  to  pine-clad  Maine; 
I'm  glad  the  people  are  not  bent 
On  change  and  want  new  government. 
134 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  'Book  135 

WASHINGTON 

New  government,  oh,  no,  great  Sire ! 

No  government  do  we  require 

But  yours,  and  we  allegiance  give 

And  crave  'neath  Britain's  flag  to  live 

In  happiness  forevermore, 

With  you,  great  King,  to  lord  it  o'er 

Old  England  and  New  England,  too. 


KING  GEORGE    ( Sadly) 

Thanks,  thanks,  but,  ah,  'twill  never  do. 

WASHINGTON 

What  ails  my  liege,  your  cheeks  turn  pale. 
Your  words  in  deep  emotion  fail; 
Some  burden's  on  your  noble  heart ! 

KING    GEORGE 

The  colonies  and  I — must  part ! 


WASHINGTON  (deeply  agitated) 

Must  part!    Oh,  King,  what  do  you  mean? 
We,  who  are  happy  and  serene, 
While  we  have  you,  our  King,  to  love 
And  Britain's  flag  to  wave  above ; 
Why  must  we  part?    I  lose  my  breath; 
Great  King,  you've  scared  me  half  to  death. 
Speak !  speak !  my  liege,  that  I  may  glean 
Some  ray  of  hope.    What  do  you  mean  ? 


136  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

KING    GEORGE 

Ah,  Washington,  my  noble  friend, 
'Tis  sad  to  think  my  reign  must  end 
Upon  this  continent,  but  so 
The  fates  have  willed,  and  I  must  gol 

WASHINGTON 

You  break  my  heart,  see  how  I  grieve? 
What  secret  have  you  up  your  sleeve  ? 
Some  awful  weight  preys  on  your  mind. 
Explain,  oh,  Sire !  don't  be  unkind ! 
Tell  me,  great  King,  what  does  this  mean? 
We  want  no  other  King  or  queen 
But  you  and  she,  your  royal  spouse. 

KING    GEORGE 

To  swift  revolt  you  must  arouse 
The  colonies  at  once. 

WASHINGTON 

And  why 

Must  we  revolt,  who're  loyal,  and  die? 
Why  must  grim  bloodshed's  gory  stain 
Besmirch  fair  valley,  hill  and  plain? 
Why  must  we  fight? 

(The  American  boy  rushes  on  center.     He  is  a  typical 
twentieth-century  boy,  full  of  life,  dash  and  vigor.) 

AMERICAN   BOY 

I'll  tell  you  why:— 

If  you  don't  we'll  have  no  Fourth  of  July. 
I  am  the  great  American  boy, 
That  sprite  of  palpitating  joy; 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Ttook  137 

And  I  demand — mind,  no  excuse — 
One  day  a  year  to  turn  things  loose; 
One  day  to  let  the  fireworks  off; 
One  day  to  make  the  old  cat  cough, 
And  watch  her  o'er  the  fence  top  sail, 
With  strings  of  crackers  at  her  tail ; 
I  want  a  day  to  shriek  and  shout 
And  blow  myself  clean  inside  out; 
I  want  a  day  to  work  off  steam 
And  hear  the  American  eagle  scream; 
A  day  to  let  old  Europe  know 
That  our  band  wagon  heads  the  show; 
A  day  of  grand  hilarious  mirth, 
When  Uncle  Sam  owns  all  the  earth; 
A  day  when  Europe  looks  amazed 
And  all  creation  sits  back  dazed; 
A  day  when  small  boys  rule  the  world 
And  brave  Old  Glory  swings  unfurled— 
Defiance  breathing  to  the  spheres, 
And  I,  bereft  of  nose  and  ears, 
Sing  Yankee  Doodle,  Doodle  Doo! 
Now  then,  you  fellows — biff ! — set  to ! 
Get  up  and  fight — don't  waste  any  time 
With  fire  crackers,  twelve  a  dime, 
And  Roman  candles,  six  for  ten; 
I'm  out  for  sport;  now  fight  like  men; 
Go  pound  each  other  till  you're  sore, 
Or  stand  disgraced  forevermore. 

WASHINGTON 

Where  are  you  from,  sweet  youth  so  coy? 

AMERICAN   BOY 

I  am  the  twentieth-century  boy, 

And  down  the  years  I've  come,  post  haste, 

To  tell  you  both  you'll  be  disgraced 


138  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

Forever  in  our  boyish  eyes 

If  you  don't  fight;  so,  if  you're  wise, 

Great  Washington,  King  George  you'll  take 

And  mince-meat  of  that  monarch  make. 

And  if  you  don't,  take  this  from  me: 

There  will  be  no  Washington,  D.  C; 

No  statues  soaring  to  your  name; 

No  songs  triumphant  to  proclaim 

You  father  of  your  country  grand, 

The  idol  of  your  native  land; 

No  pictures  hanging  everywhere 

Of  you  crossing  o'er  the  Delaware, 

Upstanding  thus,  hand  stuck  in  coat, 

With  patriotic  boys  to  gloat 

Upon  your  grand,  heroic  manner, 

While  small  lips  hum  "Star-spangled  Banner!" 

These  awful  things  will  happen  if 

You  don't  give  old  King  George  a  biff. 

I'll  have  no  chance  to  lose  an  eye 

And  walk  around  three  fingers  shy, 

And  Chinese  Union  Firework  Packers 

Will  strike  if  they  can't  sell  their  crackers. 

Come,  boys;  come,  boys  from  everywhere. 

(Boys  rush  on,  and  encircle  the  stage.) 

Oh,  join  me  in  this  fervent  prayer 
To  this,  our  hero  Washington, 
To  give  us  just  one  day  of  fun! 
One  day  of  wild,  hilarious  mirth, 
The  greatest  day  for  boys  on  earth. 
Great  Washington,  quick,  make  reply, 
Do  we  get  our  Fourth  of  July  ? 

(Washington,  in  deep  distress,  gazes  at  the  floor,  sighs 
deeply,  as  King  George  takes  his  arm.) 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  139 

KING    GEORGE 

You  see,  my  friend,  what  they  require. 

WASHINGTON 

Oh,  yes,  I  see  it,  noble  Sire. 

JBut,  oh,  it  grieves  my  inmost  soul 

To  think  that  martial  drums  must  roll, 

And  midst  the  cannon's  deadly  roars 

You're  headlong  pitched  from  off  these  shores, 

And  just  because  these  horrid  boys 

.Want  some  excuse  to  make  a  noise. 

KING    GEORGE 

I  know,  old  friend,  it  does  seem  tough. 

AMERICAN   BOY 

It's  time  to  fight;  you've  talked  enough. 

WASHINGTON 

I  will  not  fight. 

AMERICAN  BOY 

Then  stand  disgraced. 
Your  name  from  school  books  be  erased. 
New  York  a  Washington  Arch  won't  boast, 
No  Sousa's  Band  play  "Washington  Post," 
And  that  story  of  the  hatchet,  see, 
Where  you  cut  down  the  cherry  tree, 
We  won't  believe  you  told  your  pa. 
We'll  swear  you  told  a  fib.    Ha !    Ha ! 

(Boys  all  laugh  derisively.) 

WASHINGTON  (indignantly) 
You'll  tell  the  world  I  told  a  lie? 


140  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

AMERICAN  BOYS 

Yes !  unless  we  get  the  "Fourth"  of  July. 

WASHINGTON 

I  will  not  be  intimidated. 

KING    GEORGE 

Now,  boys,  you've  got  him  animated; 

Leave  him  to  me,  I'll  make  him  fight. 

I've  got  a  scheme,  just  watch  him  bite, 

He'll  get  so  mad,  he'll  fairly  choke. 

And  then  off  goes  my  kingly  yoke. 

I'll  put  a  tax  on  Lipton's  tea  (All  groan) 

All  Yankees  now  my  slaves  shall  be. 

I'll  grant  you  not  the  least  concession, 

But  grind  you  down  with  fierce  oppression. 

Boston  shall  have  no  pork  and  beans, 

No  literary  oellboys  or  auto  machines.       (Groans) 

Tammany  Hall  shall  be  demolished, 

Cranberry  sauce  at  once  abolished 

And  turkey,  too,  as  I'm  a  sinner, 

Shall  never  grace  Thanksgiving  dinner.      (Groans) 

Pumpkin  pie,  and  I  repeat  it, 

No  one  in  America  shall  eat  it. 

Boys  shan't  whistle,  girls  shan't  hum, 

No  baby's  allowed  to  chew  its  thumb.          (Groans) 

And  tho'  the  nation's  blood  may  boil, 

I'll  smash  the  trusts  and  Standard  Oil. 

No  American  girl  shall  wed  a  lord ; 

All  tramps  must  wash  and  pay  their  board. 

(Loud  cries  of  "Shame!"  from  the  boys.) 

I'll  abolish,  though  my  great  throne  quakes, 
Popcorn,  candy  and  buckwheat  cakes. 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  141 

And,  to  cap  it  all,  you  wretched  creatures, 
I'll  abolish  Jersey's  fierce  mos'keeters. 

WASHINGTON  (fighting  mad) 
You  shan't! 

KING    GEORGE 

I  shan't?    I  say  I  will! 

WASHINGTON 

Then  be  prepared  for  Bunker  Hill. 
Pumpkin  pie,  that  you  can  stop. 
Pork  and  beans  from  menus  drop. 
Buckwheat  cakes  and  biscuits,  they 
Can  be  abolished  right  away. 
Turkeys,  cran'bries,  you  can  banish, 
Thumbs  from  babies'  mouths  can  vanish, 
But  I'll  spoil  all  your  kingly  features 
If  you  monkey  with  New  Jersey's  'skeeters. 
Those  noble  birds  of  freedom,  they, 
Unchained  upon  bald  heads  must  play, 
For,  if  you  stopped  their  funny  capers, 
There'd  be  no  jokes  in  Sunday  papers. 
They're  our  greatest  institution, 
The  bulwark  of  our  constitution. 
To  banish  beans,  great  King,  's  all  right, 
But  touch  the  'skeeters  and  I  fight. 

(Boys  cheer  lustily  as  Washington  takes  off  his  coat  for 
action.) 

KING    GEORGE 

Thank  Heaven,  I've  made  him  mad  at  last! 

WASHINGTON 

Go,  nail  "Old  Glory"  to  the  mast 
And  know  ye  all  that  now  I  sever 
Old  England  from  the  "new"  forever. 


142  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

KING  GEORGE   (in  fighting  attire) 
Quit  parleying  and  come  to  blows. 

(Boys  cheer  as  Washington  taps   King  George  on  the 
nose.) 

WASHINGTON 

There's  one  jiu  jitsu  on  the  nose ! 

KING    GEORGE 

My  cause  is  lost,  I'm  licked,  I'm  done ! 

WASHINGTON 

America's  free ;  hurrah,  I've  won ! 
(Goddess  of  Liberty,  from  Liberty  Island,  enters  center) 

GODDESS    OF    LIBERTY 

Immortal  George,  forever  glorious, 
I  crown  you  in  your  hour  victorious; 
'Twas  not  for  liberty  you  fought, 
And  splendid  deeds  of  valor  wrought; 
But  for  a  nobler  purpose  you 
Have  fought  and  bled — 


BOYS 
Hurrah !    Hurroo ! 


GODDESS    OF    LIBERTY 

You  knew  that  boyhood  one  day  needed 
j^or  joyous  mirth ;  their  cry  you  heeded ! 
You've  been  a  boy  and  took  compassion 
On  them  and  brought  the  "Fourth"  in  fashion. 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  143) 

KING    GEORGE 

In  my  steamer  trunk  I'll  put  my  crown, 

And  hustle  back  to  London  town; 

Farewell  to  all,  so  glad  you're  'appy, 

I'm  going  'ome  to  be  a  chappie; 

I'll  send  a  wireless  from  Southampton, 

'And  tell  the  Times  how  I've  been  tramped  on. 

WASHINGTON 

(Shakes  King  George's  hand) 
Ta !  Ta !  George ;  so  sorry  to  lose  you. 

BOYS 
We  wanted  the  "Fourth." 

WASHINGTON-KING  GEORGE 

We  couldn't  refuse  you. 

WASHINGTON 

Proclaim  this  fact  from  tower  and  steeple, 
I  only  fought  to  please  young  people; 
King  George's  head,  I  had  to  crack  it 
Just  so  the  "kids"  could  raise  a  racket; 
And  incidentally,  know  all  creatures, 
I  fought  to  save  the  Jersey  'skeeters; 
So,  know  ye  all,  South,  East,  West,  North, 
Just  how  you  got  the  glorious  "Fourth." 
You've  got  these  facts  all  in  your  noodles. 

ALL 

We  have! 


144  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

GODDESS    OF    LIBERTY 

Then  let's  sing  *Yankee  Doodle,  Doodles." 

(All  sing  "Yankee  Doodle"  as  Liberty  takes  Washington's 
hand.  King  George,  with  trunk,  exits  left.  Cheers  and  cur- 
tain.), 


"STRANDED" 
'A  Dramatic  Fragment  by  Charles  Noel  'Douglas 

CHARACTERS 

JACK  WARRINGTON,  a  stranded  opera  singer  in  love  with 

Marjorie 
MARJORIE  DALE Ditto.    In  love  with  Jack 

This  act  can  be  played  either  in  a  parlor  or  out  of  doors. 
The  costumes  suggest  themselves.  A  Mexican  "toreador" 
"rig"  for  Jack  will  be  found  effective.  As  curtain  ascends, 
Marjorie  enters  from  right  side  of  stage. 

MARJORIE 

Oh,  the  ups  and  downs  of  this  show  business.  Here  I've 
been  stranded  in  this  beastly  old  town  for  forty-eight  hours. 
It  seems  like  forty-eight  weeks.  All  the  money  I've  got  is 
a  quarter,  and  I'm  going  to  invest  that  in  an  interview  with 
Fako,  the  Mexican  Mystic,  professor  of  the  occult.  They 
say  he  is  a  wonder ;  he  knows  everything  that  has  happened, 
ever  could  happen  or  ever  will  happen.  Though  I  dread  the 
future,  I  must  draw  the  curtain  aside  and  gaze  into  the  mys- 
tic realm  of  what  is  to  be.  I  must  find  out  what  Jack  War- 
rington  is  doing  or  I'll  burst.  Oh,  why  did  he  flirt  with  that 
miserable  shrimp  of  a  soubrette,  Flossie  Francis  ?  I  know  he 
didn't  care  for  her.  I  wish  we  hadn't  quarreled;  it  has 
broken  my  heart,  and  Jack — I  loved  him  so.  Professor  Fako 
doesn't  seem  to  be  around;  I  must  hunt  him  up.  (Exits  R.) 


146  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  'Book 

ENTER    JACK     (left) 

Can  you  beat  it?  Me,  Fako,  the  Mexican  Mystic. 
Wouldn't  that  bump  you  ?  Well,  when  an  opera  singer  gets 
stranded,  it's  scheme  or  starve,  and  starving  never  looked 
good  to  me.  I've  been  at  this  "con"  game  for  nearly  a  week, 
and  am  fifty  bones  ahead  on  the  deal.  Another  week  of 
good  business  and  I'll  have  my  fare  to  New  York,  and  then, 
oh,  then  perchance  I'll  be  able  to  find  and  straighten  matters 
out  with  Marjorie  Dale,  the  dearest  girl  that  ever  lived.  Oh, 
why  did  Madge  ever  flirt  with  that  low-browed  lobster,  Jerry 
Boyd,  the  comedian,  last  season?  We  quarreled  and  parted, 
and  I've  never  known  a  happy  day  since.  Somebody  is  com- 
ing; I'll  beat  it  to  my  wigwam.  (Goes  into  tent.) 

ENTER    MARJORIE 

(Right,  with  newspaper  in  hand) 

Now,  wouldn't  that  punctuate  you?  I  just  stumbled  on  the 
theatrical  page  of  a  New  York  newspaper.  It  looks  mighty 
good  to  me  three  thousand  miles  away.  Hullo !  What's 
this?  (Reads.)  (  "It  is  reported  that  Jack  Warrington,  late 
basso  of  the  Majestic  Opera  Company,  has  married  a 
wealthy  society  woman  of  Denver,  and  will  quit  the  stage 
and  make  his  home  in  that  city.  We  wish  the  happy  pair 
all  the  joy  in  the  world."  (Screams.)  Oh,  Jack!  why  did 
you  do  it?  (Sits  left  on  bench  and  sobs  with  head  in  hands.) 

(During  this  speech,  Jack  has  been  a  highly  interested  lis- 
tener, peering  around  the  side  of  tent.) 

JACK  (aside) 

Great  Caesar's  ghost,  it's  Marjorie!  Well,  isn't  this  luck? 
Bless  her  heart ;  I  long  to  put  my  arms  around  her.  How  the 
deuce  did  she  get  here?  Stranded  like  myself,  I  suppose. 
Maybe  she  married  that  Jerry  Boyd  and  he  has  given  her 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  147 

the  throw-down.     I'll  put  on  my  mystic  garb  and  see  what 
I  can  learn.    (Retires  behind  tent.) 


MARJORIE 

Shall  I  spend  this  quarter  delving  into  the  future  or  buying 
rough  on  rats?  Guess  I'll  peer  into  the  future  first.  It's  al- 
ways darkest  before  dawn.  Fako  may  tell  me  something 
that  will  give  me  the  courage  to  live.  I'll  try  him,  anyway. 
(Goes  toward  tent,  and  calls.)  Professor  Fako! 

JACK 

(Disguised  and  masked,  and  has  long  cloak  over  left  arm, 
emerges  from  tent,  muttering  in  deep,  solemn  tones,  as 
though  chanting  some  mystic  rite.)  Aye,  lady,  the  High 
Priest  of  the  Unseen  World,  and  the  Mysterious  Hence  is  at 
your  service. 

MARJORIE 

Here  is  a  quarter;  will  you  reveal  what  the  future  has  in 
store  for  me  for  that  sum? 


JACK 

My  regular  charge,  lady,  is  a  dollar.  I  cannot  lift  the  veil 
that  hides  you  from  the  unseen  world  and  give  you  a  very 
comprehensive  view  of  futurity  for  only  twenty-five  cents. 

MARJORIE 

Couldn't  you  give  me  twenty-five  cents'  worth  of  the  un- 
seen on  account? 

JACK 
Have  you  no  ring  that  you  could  pawn,  madam  ? 


148  'Uncle  Charlie's  Story  'Book 

MARJORIE 

I've  only  one  little  ring,  a  little  friendship  ring  given  me 
by  the  only  man  I  ever  loved,  and  that  wouldn't,  if  it  were 
pawned,  fetch  me  ten  cents. 

JACK   (aside) 

That's  no  lie,  for  I  only  gave  fifty  cents  for  it.  (To  Mar- 
jorie.)  Lady,  I'll  give  you  a  hundred  dollars  for  that  ring 
you  have  on  your  finger. 

MARJORIE 

I  wouldn't  part  with  it  for  a  million,  not  for  all  the  world; 
I'd  starve  to  death  first. 

JACK  (aside) 
Bless  her  heart,  she's  true  blue. 

MARJORIE 

Take  my  quarter,  sir;  it's  all  I  have  (stretching  out  her 
hand). 

JACK 
(Aside,  holding  her  hand  in  his) 

That  precious  little  hand.  It's  heaven  to  hold  it  in  mine 
once  more.  (Takes  money.)  And  that  poor  little  quarter. 
This  is  the  only  quarter  I  ever  got  out  of  her.  It's  a  shame 
to  take  the  money.  (Bites  it.)  It's  the  real  goods,  too. 
Some  day  I'll  have  it  set  with  diamonds  and  return  it  to 
her.  (He  kisses  her  hand.) 

MARJORIE 

(Drawing  hand  back  quicklyj 
Sir,  how  dare  you  kiss  my  hand  ? 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  149 

JACK 

That  makes  up  for  the  seventy-five  cents  you  were  unable 
to  pay  for  a  full  reading  of  the  future. 

MARJORIE 

I  want  you  to  understand,  sir,  that  it  costs  more  than 
seventy-five  cents  to  kiss  me. 

JACK 

Once  your  kisses  were  free;  there  was  no  charge  for 
them. 

MARJORIE 
My  kisses  were  free  to  only  one  man ;  not  to  you. 

JACK 

Shall  I  tell  you  the  name  of  that  man  ? 

MARJORIE 
Wonderful  man  that  you  are,  you  cannot 

JACK 
It  was  Jerry  Boyd. 

MARJORIE  (startled) 
Jerry  Boyd — do  you  know  him? 

JACK  (aside) 

Know  him !  That's  the  guy  that  caused  all  the  trouble, 
and  parted  us.  I  knocked  his  block  off.  (To  Marjorie.) 
Lady,  I  know  everything.  I  am  not  a  mere  palmist  or  for- 
tune teller.  No  secret  in  heaven  or  earth  is  hid  from  me  or 
the  members  of  my  mystic  order. 


150  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

MARJORIE  (aside) 

He  certainly  is  wonderful.  (To  Jack.)  Oh,  tell  me,  sir, 
for  my  heart  is  troubled.  I  love  with  all  my  heart  and  soul 
a  tall,  handsome  man.  Tell  me  has  he  forgotten  me  ?  Has  his 
love  grown  cold? 

JACK 
It  has  not. 

MARJORIE 

Oh,  joy!  Then  why,  if  he  loved  me,  did  he  marry  an- 
other? 

JACK  (aside) 

This  is  where  I'll  jolly  her  some  more.  (To  Marjorie.) 
He  married  because  he  wanted  a  meal  ticket.  He  wanted 
an  easy  mark  to  pay  his  bar  bills  and  a  substantial  trunk  to 
drop  his  glad  rags  in.  He  saw  a  good  thing  and  he  played 
it  for  all  it  was  worth. 

MARJORIE 

The  wretch!  The  perfidious  villain!  and  he,  my  idol, 
would  sacrifice  love  for  money. 

JACK 

Alas  he  did.  In  the  language  of  the  everyday  world, 
Jack  was  a  wise  gazook.  He  seen  his  duty  and  he  done  it. 

MARJORIE 
Is  his  wife  beautiful? 

JACK  (aside) 

She  is  so  beautiful  that,  if  she  looks  at  a  street  car,  the 
wheels  fall  off.  (To  Marjorie.)  Beautiful !  Her  eyes  are 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  151 

like  twin  violets.  She  has  a  face  that  exceeds  in  loveliness 
all  that  artist  or  sculptor  has  e'er  in  their  wildest  dream- 
ings  pictured  or  conceived. 

MARJORIE 

The  cat !  I  hate  her !  Oh,  why  was  she  born  so  beauti- 
ful? Why  did  she  put  hope  and  happiness  forever  beyond 
my  reach?  Have  they  any  children  yet? 

JACK 

Yes,  sixteen. 

MARJORIE 

(Almost  in  a  state  of  collapse) 
Sixteen,  already!    Impossible! 

JACK 

Madam,  question  not  the  Fates ;  the  voice  of  Omnipotence 
speaketh.  Some  people  achieve  families;  some  have  families 
thrust  upon  them. 

MARJORIE 
Are  they  girls  or  boys  ? 

JACK 

!All  boys,  except  fifteen  girls. 

MARJORIE 

Tell  me,  why  did  Jack,  the  one  man  in  the  world  that  I 
loved,  go  back  on  me  and  treat  me  thus? 

JACK 

Because  you  flirted  with  a  red-headed,  low-browed,  freckle- 
faced,  whisky-swilling  comedian  named  Jerry  Boyd. 


152  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

MARJORIE 

I  did  no  such  thing — Jerry  Boyd — I  loathed  him. 


JACK 
You  kissed  him. 

MARJORIE 

It  is  a  cruel  falsehood.  Kiss  him !  I  would  rather  kiss  a 
wet  dog.  It  was  Jack  who  caused  all  the  trouble.  He  flirted 
with  a  lop-sided,  gum-chewing,  knock-kneed,  impertinent 
chorus  girl  named  Flossie  Francis.  It  was  that  which  broke 
my  heart.  We  quarreled,  I  got  on  my  dignity,  and  the  season 
ended  without  our  speaking  to  each  other.  He  was  too  proud 
to  beg  for  forgiveness.  I  went  my  way  broken-hearted,  and 
he,  the  wretch,  went  his  way — 

JACK 

(With  a  sigh) 
Broken-hearted,  too. 

MARJORIE 
Do  you  mean  that? 

JACK 
,Yes.    I  know  it  as  I  know  all  things. 

MARJORIE 

Then  why,  if  he  loved  me,  did  he  marry  a  woman  who  had 
more  children  than  a  Mormon  elder? 


JACK 

Just  for  pike — I  mean  pique.  He  married  that  he  might 
try  and  forget.  Forget  the  great  trouble  that  is  gnawing  at 
his  heart. 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  153 

MARJORIE 

And  he  is  now  beyond  my  reach. 

JACK 

Yes,  forever;  wealth  and  matrimony  have  placed  a  chasm 
between  you  that  can  never  be  bridged. 

MARJORIE 

Heaven  pity  me,  and  I  loved  him  so.  Oh,  sir,  if  you  have 
any  compassion  in  your  breast,  give  me  that  quarter  back  so 
I  can  invest  it  in  rough-on-rats ;  I  must  die;  I  can't  live  an- 
other minute. 

JACK 
You  must  live. 

MARJORIE 

What  have  I  to  live  for  ? 

JACK 
Live  for  me. 

MARJORIE 
Live  for  you  1    A  mystic,  a  spook,  a  wizard !    Impossible ! 

JACK 

It  is  not  impossible.  There  was  a  time  when  you  loved 
me,  loved  me  with  all  your  soul. 

MARJORIE 
Loved  you!    Who  are  you? 

JACK 

(Throwing  off  disguise) 
Your  Jack. 


154  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

MARJORIE 

(With  a  little  scream  of  delight) 

Jack!  Oh,  heaven,  my  Jack!  (Throws  herself  in  his 
arms;  they  kiss.) 

MARJORIE 
You  wretch,  you've  been  fooling  me. 

JACK 
That's  my  revenge  for  you  flirting  with  Jerry  Boyd. 

MARJORIE 

(Playfully  boxing  his  ears.)  That's  your  punishment  for 
flirting  with  Flossie  Francis,  marrying  a  Denver  lady  and 
having  a  family  of  sixteen. 

JACK 
(His  arms  about  her) 

That  was  the  one  and  only  time  I  ever  jollied  the  girl  of 
my  heart.  But  how  did  you  get  here? 

MARJORIE 
That's  just  what  I  was  going  to  ask  you. 

JACK 
Stranded  here  three  weeks  ago. 

MARJORIE 

Same  here  for  me  forty-eight  hours  ago.  Who  put  that 
report  in  the  paper  about  your  marriage? 


'Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book  155 

JACK 
I  did,  just  to  have  some  fun  with  you. 

MARJORIE 

You're  a  horrid  boy.    Now,  Jack,  whatever  shall  we  do? 

JACK 

Do — that's  easy.  I've  telegraphed  east  to  an  agent  for 
vaudeville  dates.  We  won't  starve;  I'm  fifty  dollars  ahead 
on  this  mystic  game. 

MARJORIE 

Fifty  dollars  and  twenty-five  cents,  if  I  know  anything 
about  it. 

JACK 

You  shall  have  that  quarter  back,  set  with  diamonds,  the 
day  we  are  married. 

MARJORIE 
(Looking  off  stage  left,  face  all  animation) 

Hullo !  Here  comes  a  telegraph  messenger.  (Jack  mns 
to  wings  and  returns  with  telegram.) 

JACK 

(Opens  and  reads  telegram) 

"Open  in  Chicago,  Monday,  Olympic  Theater;  two  hun- 
dred a  week."  Hurrah ! 

MARJORIE 

But  what  will  I  do? 


156  Uncle  Charlie's  Story  Book 

JACK 

We'll  double  up  in  a  singing  act  and  invade  vaudeville  to- 
gether. 

MARJORIE 
Bully !    Let's  rehearse  now. 

JACK 

And  remember,  nothing  on  earth  shall  part  us.  (They  em- 
brace again.) 

MARJORIE 

Nothing  but  death.  I'm  so  happy  I  must  sing.  Sing  like 
the  birds  for  the  joy  of  living.  (She  sings.  At  end  of 
song.)  Now,  Jack,  dearest,  sing  for  me. 


JACK 

With  pleasure.  (He  sings.  After  song.)  Now,  suppose 
we  sing  that  comic  song  that  we  used  to  warble  at  home  in 
the  days  before  we  went  on  the  stage.  Or  the  rag-time  ditty 
we  sang  in  church  while  they  passed  the  plate  around. 

MARJORIE 

Bully  idea.  We'll  let  the  audience  see  that  we  can  be 
happy,  even  though  stranded. 

DUET — MARJORIE  AND  JACK 

Seems  to  me  I've  always  loved  you, 
Seems  to  me  I've  never  known 
In  my  life  a  single  moment, 
When  you  were  not  all  my  own. 


Uncle  Charlie's  Story  lBook  157 

Naught  on  earth  our  hearts  can  sever, 
Naught  the  joy  of  loving  mar, 
Twin  souls  joined  in  bliss  forever, 
Happy,  though  we  stranded  are. 

CURTAIN 

Note :  Professionals  and  amateurs  desiring  to  produce  this 
sketch  must  first  obtain  author's  permission.  All  performing 
rights  strictly  reserved. 


THE  END 


UNCLE  CHARLIE'S  POEMS. 

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UNCLE  CHARLIE'S  SONG  BOOK. 

28  GEMS  OF  MIRTH,  MELODY  AND  SENTIMENT  28 

By  CHARLES  NOEL  DOUGLAS. 

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CONTENTS. 

PATRIOTIC.  COMIC  &  NOVELTY  SONGS 

Hall  to  Old  Glory.  Broke  Again. 

LOVE  BALLADS.  World  in  Which  I'm  King. 

Had  I  But  You.  The  Oyster  and  the  Pearl. 

1  Want  You  So.  Love  in  an  Auto  Car. 
The  Love  that  Never  Fades.      The  True  Love  Kiss. 

SACRED  Cupid's  Wireless. 

God's  Garden  of  Sleep.  5?ri7?fd  ?ch£es;,  , 

Consider  the  Lilies.  w?nt  You  be  fly  Valentine. 

Hail  to  the  Christ  Child.  ^^  and  the  Katydid. 
Hail  Glorious  Day.  STORY  BALLADS. 

COON  SONGS.  Sweethearts  Still. 

My  Starlight  Queen.  How  Hearts  are  Broken. 

When  Dinah  Gets  the  Banjo  Keep  on  the  Sunny  Side  of 

Melinda.  [Down.  Baby  Jim.    [Life's  Highway. 

Etc.,  Etc. 

Five  Dollars  Worth  of  Music  For  Only 

—  3O  CENTS.  ^— 

Elegant  cover  design  by  the  famous  artist  R.  F.  Outcanlt, 
creator  of  Buster  Brown,  showing  four  half -tone  pictures  of  Uncle 
Charlie  as  a  Choir  Singer,  Stage  Villain,  Matinee  Idol  and 
Soldier.  Size  11x15.  An  ideal,  classy  gift.  Complete  music 
for  voice  and  piano.  Sent  on  receipt  of  price,  30  cents. 

CHARLES  NOEL  DOUGLAS, 
1299  Park  Place,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 


ARE  YOU  IN  LOVE? 

If  80,  You  Should  Order  At  Once 

THE  LOVER'S  COMPANION. 

"   COflPILED  BY, 

CHARLES  NOEL  DOUGLAS. 


12mo,  I  GO  Pages.     Cloth  Bound.     Price,  SO  Cents. 


The  most  unique,  artistic,  interesting  and  valuable 
book  of  its  kind  in  existence.  Everything  the  master 
minds  of  all  ages  have  sung  and  written  concerning 
the  divine  passion  can  be  found  in  this  work,  and  it 
is  replete  with  the  most  exquisite  love  lyrics,  love 
ballads,  and  love  poems,  attuned  to  each  and  every 
mood  of  the  human  heart. 

It  contains  two  thousand  literary  love  gems — a 
very  Cupid's  treasury  and  store-house  of  love.  If 
you  wish  to  write  to  the  object  of  your  love,  and  are 
at  a  loss  for  language  which  will  adequately  express 
the  intensity  of  the  passion  which  is  gnawing  at  your 
heart,  this  work  will  put  you  in  possession  of  words 
that  burn  and  sentences  that  thrill,  and  gems  of 
poetry  that  will  fill  your  adored  with  an  ecstasy  of 
bliss  no  words  of  yours  could  ever  inspire.  There  are 
seventy-six  subjects  treated  in  this  book,  all  bearing 
on  the  various  phases  of  love. 

Sent  by  the  compiler  on  receipt  of  50  cents  (add 
five  cents  for  mailing),  and  address  all  orders  to 

CHARLES  NOEL  DOUGLAS, 
1299  Park  Place^  Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 


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